LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 


LETTERS  TO  A 
DJINN 

BY 

GRACE  ZARING  STONE 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1922 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
THE  CENTOBT  Co. 


PBLNTED    IN   IT.    8.    A. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 


2132790 


Copyright,  1922,  by 
THK  CENTDBT  Co. 


PBrSTED   IN   TT.    8.    A. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 


2132790 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

On  board  S.  S.  Suydam, 
about  33°  15'  44"  S.,  151°  12'  23"  E. 
— November,  19 — . 

Dear  Hinbad: 

Immediately  on  opening  this,  I  want  you  to 
leave  your  apartment  on  Ninety-second  Street  and 
go  somewhere — it  matters  little  where — along 
the  water-front  near  New  York.  The  park 
down  at  Fort  Hamilton  where  we  used  often  to 
sit  would  perhaps  answer  the  purpose,  for  it  was 
there  we  watched  the  smoke  of  passing  tramps 
and  liners,  the  spread  of  occasional  sails,  and 
breathed  strong  airs  fresh  from  the  open  water. 
You  remember  how  we  used  to  talk  of  all  the  ro- 
mance of  sea  wandering,  sea  warfare,  sea  traffick- 
ing, of  those  immemorial  interchanges  from  race 
to  race  of  men,  of  commodities  and,  best  of  all, 
ideas.  Take  my  letter  down  there,  Hinbad,  sit 
where  we  always  sat,  and  read  it.  I  have  a  feel- 
ing that  you  will  be  in  a  more  fitting  mood  for  the 
reception  of  a  fact  that  I  must  tell  you,  but  that  I 
can  scarcely  hope  under  any  circumstances  to 

3 


4  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

render  excusable.  But  soon  or  late  it  must  be 
told.  Briefly  stated,  then,  it  is  this :  I  am  leav- 
ing Australia. 

Of  course  there  is  no  immediate  hue  and  cry. 
You  would  not  be  expected  to  appreciate  at  once 
its  full  significance.  "  Leaving  Australia !"  you 
repeat.  "Is  that  all?  I  had  feared  because  of 
all  this  unusual  tact,  that  you  were  trying  to  pre- 
pare me  for  something  far  worse.  You  have,  it 
seems,  been  in  Australia  the  allotted  three  weeks, 
and  are  now  as  a  matter  of  course  returning 
home. ' ' 

"But,  Hinbad,  I  am  not  exactly  returning 
home. " 

"What I  Yet  even  now  I  refuse  to  be  need- 
lessly alarmed.  It  may  be  that  the  Thompsons 
have  decided  to  meander  over  some  more 
leisurely  route  of  Suez  or  Japan  or  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope.  And  you  as  their  secretary  ac- 
company them. — What  more  natural  ?" 

"Nothing  more  natural,  Hinbad,  if  it  were  the 
case;  but  the  Thompsons  sail  for  San  Francisco 
in  two  weeks — without  me." 

"There  is  indeed  something  wrong, "  you  cry. 
"Out  with  it  I  Tell  me  at  once  the  worst  of  what 
you  have  done  or  are  about  to  do." 

"Hinbad,  your  concern  is  natural,  and  I  began 


LETTERS  TO  A  BJINN  5 

this  letter  intending  to  confess  all  somewhere  in 
the  course  of  it.  You  must  first  know,  then,  that 
last  week  the  Governor  and  Lady  Denman  gave 
a  ball  at  Government  House  —  Please  do  not 
interrupt  me,  for  this  is  highly  pertinent  to  the 
matter  and  will  soon  disclose  itself  as  such.  To 
these  big  balls  most  of  the  notables  in  Melbourne 
are  invited.  The  Thompsons,  as  representatives 
of  the  great  Panama  Commission,  are  notables. 
The  invitations  therefore,  gilt  on  white,  read 
thus: 


(Cliatnltf  rlatn  Is  frutob  hit  tfyrtr 

tire  (Smtrrnur-C&ntrral  anil  Caiuj  Srttimut, 

tn  imiitr  fHr.  and  Mrs.  3fnlm 

ta  a  ball  on  -iirimpflfoaB,  SfrrarmliMr  -- 
(Sirorrnmrnt  Huuar 

(An  a«0ttirr  10 


But,  Hinbad,  remark  that  just  after  the  name 
of  the  Thompsons  the  finger  of  fate  —  for  I  can 
not  believe  it  to  have  been  the  mere  finger  of 
a  secretary  —  traced  in  my  own  humble  name. 
Who,  you  ask,  would  invite  the  social  secretary, 
the  poor  relative,  of  the  Panama  Commissioner's 
wife  to  a  ball  at  Government  House?  Obviously, 
no  one.  But  there  it  was,  in  black  on  white, 


6  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

surrounded  by  the  tangible  evidences  of  gilt 
crowns  and  gilt  lettering!  Mrs.  Thompson 
said  if  I  was  invited  I  was  invited,  and  that  was 
the  end  of  it.  Fortunately,  I  had  a  suitable  even- 
ing dress,  so  I  went. 

You  will,  of  course,  want  me  to  describe  the 
function — the  chains  of  carriages  over  Alexandria 
Bridge,  the  white  stockings  and  knee-breeches 
of  the  governors,  their  aides  in  plumed  helmets 
and  gold  lace,  the  preponderance  of  sunburned 
squatters  with  red  dust  of  the  "back-blocks" 
clinging  almost  visibly  to  them,  and  the  gaudy 
splendor  of  their  spangled  ladies,  but  I  have  no 
time  to  dwell  on  such  things.  I  was  soon  sepa- 
rated from  the  Thompsons  by  the  crush,  and  as  no 
one  knew  me  and  I  knew  no  one,  I  wandered  about 
by  myself,  treading  on  the  trains  of  dowagers  and 
murmuring  every  now  and  then,  "Oh,  so  sorry !" 
But  as  the  evening  wore  on  (we  had  come  rather 
late)  the  function  began  to  relax  a  little.  The 
Governor-General's  party  had  danced  their  stiff 
quadrille  and  passed  in  to  supper,  dancing  became 
more  general,  tunes  more  rollicking,  and  even  the 
old  officers  and  councilors  stood  about  in  groups 
telling  what  I  judged  to  be  very  funny  stories. 

I  strayed  off  through  several  drawing-rooms  in 
search  of  the  Thompsons,  and  came  at  last 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  7 

to  one  seemingly  empty.  Almost  immediately  I 
espied  in  the  far  corner  a  lady  engaged  in  fainting 
on  a  sofa.  Now,  there  is  but  one  remedy 
I  know  of  for  fainting  ladies — a  glass  of 
water ;  so  I  found  a  servant  and  demanded  in 
great  excitement  that  he  fetch  me  one.  He 
departed  imperturbably,  while  I  returned  to  the 
lady.  She  revived  enough  to  tell  me  what  I  might 
do  for  her:  she  said  that  I  might  hold  her  arms 
above  her  head.  This  seemed  to  me  a  novel 
method  of  resuscitation,  and  not  altogether  the 
kind  of  thing  one  pictures  oneself  doing  at  a 
Governor's  ball.  Nevertheless  I  did  hold  up  her 
arms,  and  to  my  surprise  she  presently  revived 
so  completely  that  the  glass  of  water  when  it  came 
was  unnecessary. 

She  sat  up  and  thanked  me  for  my  kindness; 
but  I,  feeling  now  in  a  measure  responsible  for 
her,  sat  beside  her  on  the  sofa  to  be  sure  of  her 
complete  recovery.  We  talked  for  a  while  of  the 
heat,  the  crowd,  and  the  costumes.  Soon  I  said 
I  must  be  going,  and  moved  to  rise ;  but,  glancing 
at  her,  I  caught  a  sudden  look  of  almost  startling 
appeal  that  made  me  hesitate.  Her  isolation  in 
this  hive  of  people  had  something  of  dreariness 
and  finality  about  it  that  touched  my  own  more 
casual  loneliness.  There  was  a  little  awkward 


8  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

•pause.  Then,  without  offering  any  explanation 
of  my  change  of  mind,  I  settled  back  beside  her  on 
the  sofa. 

She  looked  at  me  timidly  grateful  and  said, 
"My  husband  will  be  here  for  me  in  a  moment. 
I  can  not  think  what  is  keeping  him  so  long  as 
this." 

"He  will  be  here  soon,  no  doubt,"  I  assured 
her.  "In  the  meantime,  I  should  like,  if  I  may, 
to  stay  here  with  you." 

"You  are  very  kind  indeed,"  she  murmured. 
"But  I  am  afraid  a  person  like  myself  is  not  good 
company."  a 

"Have  you  been  really  ill?"  I  asked.  "I  mean 
apart  from  the  attack?" 

"Oh,  I  am  really  ill,"  she  said,  quite  breathless 
all  of  a  sudden.  "I  am  afraid  I  won't  be  well  for 
a  long  time.  Then  this  morning  I  received  bad 
news— very  bad  news.  It  was  that  which  upset 
me." 

I  looked  at  her  more  closely.  She  was  a  wasted 
little  woman,  Hinbad,  and  it  must  have  been  that 
my  sympathy  showed  in  my  eyes,  for  she  contin- 
ued in  a  sudden  rush  of  words:  "It  is  my  sister, 
you  see,  the  only  one  I  have.  She  is  much 
younger  than  I,  and  I  practically  brought  her  up 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  9 

as  a  daughter.  She  is  very,  very  dear  to  me,  and 
we  were  never  separated  till  I  brought  her  out 
here  some  years  ago.  I  was,  you  see,  a  gover- 
ness— "  She  hesitated  over  the  last  word,  as  if 
it  might  involve  something  distasteful  to  me. 

"Oh,  I  'm  a  social  secretary,"  I  told  her,  "and 
before  that  I  was  an  old  lady's  companion  and  a 
semi-nurse." 

"Really!"  she  exclaimed,  evidently  relieved. 
"Then  you  can  appreciate  something  of  the 
position  it  puts  one  in.  But  soon  after  coming 
here  both  my  sister  and  I  married.  That  was 
strange,  you  know;  for,  while  she  was  too  young 
to  do  so,  I  was  rather  too  old — nearly  forty.  My 
husband  is  a  squatter,  and,  by  the  way,  my  name 
is  Darwin  and  we  live  on  a  station  out  near  Bro- 
ken Hill.  But  my  little  sister — oh,  she  has  been 
most  unfortunate — "  Her  eyes  dimmed  as  she 
went  on.  "She  married  a  mining  engineer,  and 
I  Ve  scarcely  seen  her  since.  But  just  to-day  I 
received  a  letter  from  Singapore  from  her  hus- 
band. She  is  ill,  it  seems,  with  a  sort  of  melan- 
cholia— I  can't  make  out  just  what,  but  I  fear  the 
kind  of  nervous  illness  that  sometimes  comes  with 
too  long  living  in  the  tropics.  The  tropics  have 
never  been  good  for  her,  but  she  has  been  obliged 


10  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

to  live  about  in  them,  Borneo,  Ceylon,  and  such 
places,  ever  since  her  marriage  with  this — this 
husband. ' ' 

Mrs.  Darwin  paused,  out  of  breath,  while  her 
face  gradually  flushed  with  growing  excitement. 
"He  has  written  me  to  come  and  fetch  her.  He 
can  not  or  does  not  wish  to  leave. ' ' 

"Are  you  going,  then?"  I  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  me  despairingly.  "That  is 
just  it.  I  can  not.  My  husband  would  never  let 
me,  because  of  my  health — at  least,  not  for  some 
time.  But  she  is  so  ill  now,  and  her  husband  for 
the  first  time  seems  willing  she  should  leave.  I 
ought  to  go.  I  want — oh,  so  much,  to  go !  But 
I  can  not." 

I  was  almost  afraid,  Hinbad,  she  would  faint 
on  my  hands  again,  and  I  looked  about  apprehen- 
sively for  the  returning  husband. 

"Can't  you  send  some  one  for  her?"  I  sug- 
gested at  random. 

"Of  course  that  is  the  obvious  thing.  But 
who  ?  I  told  you  I  was  a  governess  here ;  I  have 
lived  out  on  a  station  since.  That  means  I  have 
really  no  friends.  I  don't  know  who  would  go 
for  me." 

It  was  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue  to  suggest  that 
her  husband  might  go,  but  it  occurred  to  me  that 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  11 

there  would  always  be  a  host  of  highly  plausible 
reasons  to  prevent  a  man  from  undertaking  this 
particular  sort  of  inconvenience.  I  felt  im- 
mensely sorry  for  her,  Hinbad.  I  can't  tell  you 
all  the  deplorable  droop  of  the  little  creature  in 
her  spangled  evening  frock.  The  persistent  hum 
of  near-by  people,  the  absurd  gilt-legged  sofa  on 
which  she  sat,  all  accentuated  her  confusion  and 
her  helplessness. 

"Then  send  a  nurse,"  I  suggested. 

"Oh,  a  nurse!"  she  cried  feverishly.  "But 
you  don't  know  these  nurses  out  here.  I  was  in 
a  hospital  once  in  Sydney,  and  I  can 't  tell  you  the 
things  I  endured.  Once  they  let  two  scalding 
hot-water  bottles  break  under  me  and  waited  al- 
most an  hour  to  change  the  sheets.  No,  no;  I 
want  some  one  kindly  and  gentle.  Trained 
nurses,  alas!  are  so  seldom  that." 

She  took  a  long  gulp  from  the  glass  of  water  I 
still  held.  "No;  I  want  some  one  capable,  with 
presence  of  mind,  a  lady,  if  possible,  but  above  all 
else  kindly."  She  handed  me  back  the  glass,  and 
stopped  to  stare  at  me  with  a  sudden  wonder. 

"A  lady,"  she  repeated,  "and  above  all 
kindly."  Just  then  a  heavy  sunburned  man  in 
ill-fitting  evening  clothes  slouched  across  the 
room  to  us.  It  was  the  husband. 


12 

Now,  what  do  you  think  of  all  this,  Hinbad? 
Does  the  lady  rouse  your  sympathy  or  interest? 
Is  there  any  air  of  probability?  Above  all,  did 
I  ever  appear  to  you  before  as  a  person  capable 
and  kindly? 

"  Preposterous  I"  I  hear  you  exclaim.  "You 
are  a  heartless  featherbrain." 

But  do  not  be  too  hasty.  As  to  this  last,  re- 
member, please,  that  while  you  know  me  to  be  a 
heartless  featherbrain,  she  on  the  contrary  had 
seen  me  show  great  presence  of  mind  in  calling 
for  a  glass  of  water,  and  had  poured  into  my 
willing  ear  all  her  confidences. 

You  interrupt  me,  of  course,  in  great  alarm: 
" Don't  try  to  make  me  believe,  however,  that  she 
engaged  you  for  her  errand!" 

Believe  it  or  not,  Hinbad,  if  you  will  glance 
again  at  the  heading  of  this  letter  you  will  see 
that  I  am  on  a  Dutch  boat  bound  for  Singapore. 
Of  course,  there  was  more  to  it  than  just  this, 
but  I  intend  to  leave  a  large  hiatus  here.  I  in- 
tend to  suppress  all  the  details  of  what  followed — 
of  interviews  with  the  Thompsons,  of  the  search- 
ing of  references  on  both  sides,  of  the  arguments 
and  ponderings.  Mrs.  Darwin  clung  to  her 
strange  fancy  for  me,  and  the  belief  that  I  was  one 
sent  from  heaven  to  relieve  this  situation.  I  will 


LETTEKS  TO  A  DJINN  13 

not  disguise  from  you,  however,  that  the  Thomp- 
sons were  far  from  enthusiastic,  or  that  the  hus- 
band regarded  it  as  other  than  a  mania  of  his  wife 
due  to  her  condition  and  necessarily  to  be  hu- 
mored on  that  account,  though  I  believe  he  also  se- 
cretly saw  in  it  the  merit  of  saving  him  from  the 
disagreeable  alternative  of  going  himself. 

For  several  days  I  myself  swung  alternately 
between  horror  and  delight  before  the  prospect. 
But,  to  be  brief  and  concrete,  the  matter  stood 
thus:  the  Darwins  would  pay  my  fare  to  Singa- 
pore, where  Mr.  Shepley  was  to  turn  over  his 
wife  to  my  charge,  and  pay,  instead  of  Mrs.  Dar- 
win's fare,  mine,  her  emissary's,  back  to  Sydney. 
On  my  successful  return  there  I  was  to  receive 
from  the  Darwins  fifty  pounds  for  my  pains,  be- 
sides which  the  Thompsons,  before  my  departure, 
would  pay  me  in  cash  the  sum  of  my  return  fare 
to  New  York,  which  they  would  otherwise  have 
expected  to  pay — a  matter  of  about  four  hundred 
dollars,  making  a  slight  margin  of  safety. 

All  these  risks,  such  as  they  are,  I  finally  de- 
cided to  take;  but  the  real  moment  of  decision 
came  to  me  just  before  sailing.  Imagine,  Hin- 
bad,  the  four  of  them  sitting  around  my  cabin, 
with  the  blare  and  bustle  of  departure  going  on 
outside :  Mrs.  Darwin  weeping  on  the  edge  of  my 


14  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

trunk;  her  husband  in  the  doorway,  stolid  and 
bored;  Mr.  Thompson  pretending  to  look  out  the 
port  with  the  resolute  air  of  "I  wash  my  hands 
of  the  whole  matter";  and  Mrs.  Thompson  in  her 
ceremonious  way  presenting  to  me,  as  a  final 
token,  one  of  those  heavy  silver  scarfs  she  is  so 
fond  of.  I  was  thanking  her  for  it  and  holding 
it  for  Mrs.  Darwin's  approval,  when  Mrs.  Thomp- 
son suddenly  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  and  said 
very  seriously:  "It  is  not  too  late  even  now  to 
withdraw  if  you  wish  to." 

Somehow,  Hinbad,  this  made  me  catch  my 
breath.  It  so  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  this 
element  of  sharp  decision  in  adventure  is  what 
finely  distinguishes  it  from  mere  vulgar,  elemen- 
tal chance.  (That  there  is  more  in  adventure, 
however,  than  the  quality  of  decision,  do  not 
bother  to  remind  me,  for  I  am  well  aware  of  it. 
If  that  were  all  there  was  to  it,  we  need  go  no 
further  in  search  of  it  than  the  selection  of  our 
own  hats.)  But  you  are  right;  I  digress,  when 
I  was  only  trying  to  make  clear  to  you  the  pleas- 
ure it  gave  me  to  reply  to  Mrs.  Thompson's  sug- 
gestion : 

"But  I  have  no  wish  at  all  to  withdraw." 
On  the  heels  of  this,  startling  as  an  answering 
challenge,    the    "all    ashore"    bugle    sounded. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  15 

With  varying  good-bys,  they  left  me  to  my  cabin. 
I  have  just  been  watching  them  melt  into  the 
crowds  on  the  dock,  while  we  steam  out  toward 
the  gray  Heads  of  Sydney  harbor  toward  open 
water. 

But  right  here,  Hinbad,  is  where  I  peter  out. 
I  have  told  you  everything.  I  have  no  more  to 
say.  I  am  breathless,  suddenly  abashed.  If  I 
could  see  your  face,  hear  your  exclamation,  I 
might  realize  wherein  further  to  excuse  myself. 
But  I  have  told  you  this  deaf  and  blind ;  you  must 
make  the  best  you  can  of  it,  while  for  me  remains 
the  joyous  task,  the  arduous  task,  of  justifying 
to  myself  my  own  decision.  So  now  for  a  time 
good-by.  SINBAD. 

At  sea. 

—  November,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 

When  I  had  finished  writing  to  you,  I  heaved 
a  sigh  of  relief  and  said  to  myself,  "Well,  that  is 
over!"  The  only  thing  that  might  possibly  have 
been  added  would  have  been  the  assurance  that  I 
am  entirely  capable  of  looking  after  myself. 
Then,  just  as  I  was  about  to  go  up  on  deck,  you, 
Hinbad,  appeared  before  me  in  the  form  of  a 
djinn.  You  must  not  be  surprised  that  you 


16  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

should  do  this,  for  I  can  not  tell  you  the  number 
of  times  you  have  already  done  so — enough  that 
I  have  ceased  to  be  startled  by  it,  till  now  I 
welcome  you  quite  naturally,  as  if  I  expected 
you;  for,  indeed,  I  often  do  expect  you,  though 
you  are  as  apt  to  appear  at  unimportant  moments 
as  at  crises,  while  there  are  even  times  when  I 
wish  very  much  for  you  that  you  won't  come  at 
all.  But  I  was  saying  that  you  appeared. 

"Not  so  fast,"  you  said  to  me  sharply.  "Sit 
down  and  think  over  the  first  thing  to  be  done." 

"I  have  no  idea  what  you  mean,"  I  said. 

"Don't  be  exasperating,"  you  replied.  "I  only 
ask  you  to  exercise  prudence,  discretion,  and  the 
usual,  every-day,  common  sense." 

"Try  to  make  yourself  clear,  my  dear  Hinbad. 
These  stuffy  qualities  you  speak  of  I  have  always 
associated  with  middle  age,  and  I  can  not  see 
their  possible  connection  with  myself." 

"Sinbad,"  you  replied  sadly,  "<do  not  jeer  at 
middle  age,  for  remember  that  even  the  very 
young  are  not  always  right. ' ' 

Then  you  sighed  again — quite  a  gale — and  van- 
ished. 

I  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  trunk,  pondering  your 
words,  till  presently  I  rang  for  a  passenger  list 
and  looked  it  over.  There  are  very  few  of  us, 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  17 

but  after  a  little  careful  study  of  the  three  other 
female  names  I  chose  that  of  "Miss  Eveline  Hale- 
Hale.  "  I  thought  it  sounded  promising — don't 
you  think  it  does?  There  is  always  something 
about  these  hyphenated  names — especially  in 
England.  But,  anyway,  it  was  more  promising 
even  than  it  sounds.  I  went  up  on  deck,  and  with 
no  difficulty  at  all  located  her,  for  she  had  evi- 
dently been  reading  over  the  lists  herself  and 
set  out  to  find  me,  my  name  also  being  obviously 
respectable.  We  scrutinized  each  other,  entirely 
unabashed. 

I  tell  you,  Hinbad,  she  is  all  that  your  prudence 
and  caution  could  desire  for  me  as  a  chaperon. 
She  might  be  of  any  age  between  twenty-five  and 
forty;  for  either  age  or  climate,  or  both,  have 
given  her  a  seasoned  dried-out  look  and  stretched 
the  skin  tautly  across  all  her  bones.  She  is 
plainly  dressed,  plainly  spoken,  and  yet  possessed 
of  all  that  perfect  poise  which  no  English- 
woman— ,  owing  to  their  peculiar  system  of 
caste, — could  possibly  assume  without  the  assur- 
ance of  having  been  well  born.  Our  scrutiny 
over,  we  sat  side  by  side  where  we  could  watch  the 
bluffs  and  long  beaches  of  New  South  Wales,  and 
the  following  took  place. 

She:    Will  you  be  going  to  England? 


18  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

/:    Only  as  far  as  Singapore. 

She:  Fancy!  It  is  a  rather  bad  place,  Singa- 
pore. Hot,  very  hot.  Never  could  understand 
why  a  place  need  be  so  beastly  hot. 

/  (explaining) :  The  equator,  you  know.  It 
is  almost  on  it. 

She  (after  a  long  pause,  dismissing  the  equa- 
tor) :  But,  you  see,  the  trouble  is  we  have  to  live 
there,  and  it  is  unhealthy — fevers  and  all  that. 
There  should  be  some  way  of  changing  it. 

/  (after  some  thought,  finding  myself  unable 
to  suggest  a  remedy) :  You  know  Singapore, 
then? 

She:  Only  slightly.  But  I  also  know  Pinang 
and  Kuala  Lumpur  and  Ipoh. 

/  (politely) :    Oh,  you  do ! 

She:    Have  you  been  there  before? 

/:    No. 

She:    Do  you  know  people  there? 

/:    Not  exactly. 

She:    That  is  most  unfortunate. 

/:    Is  it  T    Why  should  it  be  ? 

She  (gravely) :  You  should  know  some  one 
there — you  really  should — or  not  get  off. 

/:  Well,  I  am  being  sent  to  some  one,  so  I 
guess  that  will  be  all  right. 

She:    You  should  be  quite  sure  it  is  all  right. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  19 

(Then,  glancing  with  a  look  of  mistrust  in  the 
general  direction  of  the  Malay  peninsula) : 
Those  countries  like  that — they  are  not  only  hot, 
you  know — but  they  are — well,  wicked. 

I  (slightly  depressed):     Oh! 

At  dinner  we  found  ourselves  placed  on  each 
side  of  the  Captain,  who  appeared  during  the 
course  of  the  meal  and  bowed  ponderously  in  turn 
to  each  one  at  the  table.  He  is  a  gigantic  Friesian 
with  a  bristling  pompadour  and  mustache,  small 
blue  eyes,  and  a  face  so  red  I  suspect  he 
dare  not  laugh  much,  for  fear  of  heat  apoplexy. 
There  was  also  a  Commissioner  of  Native  Affairs 
and  Control,  a  planter  of  Sandakan,  and  several 
missionaries. 

All  these  were  more  or  less  commonplace  be- 
ings who  happened  by  various  chances  to  find 
themselves  in  strangely  colored  surroundings; 
but  across  from  us  were  two  vacant  chairs,  one 
reserved,  so  we  were  told,  for  a  man  who  was  to 
get  on  at  Brisbane,  and  the  other  for  Endicott, 
the  scientist  and  explorer,  who  has  been  up  into 
the  heart  of  Papua  and  is  awaiting  the  ship 
at  Port  Moresby.  You  have  heard  of  this  Endi- 
cott person,  I  am  sure,  for  he  writes  articles 
every  now  and  then  for  the  National  Geographic, 
which  we  used  to  read  so  avidly  at  home.  He,  it 


20  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

seems,  has  been  up  the  Fly  River  in  Papua.  You 
have  never  heard  of  the  Fly  River,  of  course. 
Neither  had  I.  It  is  distressing  how  easily  we 
imagine  our  small  edge  of  the  world  to  be  its 
entire  circumference. 

Here  is  this  New  Guinea,  which  contains  more 
than  three  hundred  thousand  square  miles,  which 
has  mountains  higher  than  thirteen  thousand  feet, 
and  among  other  rivers  the  Fly,  which  has  been 
navigated  for  six  hundred  miles.  Here,  I  say,  is 
this  New  Guinea.  I  am  within  a  week 's  sail  of  the 
place,  and  I  know  nothing  whatever  about  it.  I 
scarcely  ever  heard  of  it. 

The  Commissioner  whom  I  spoke  of  as 
a  commonplace  soul  says  he  has  been  up  the  Fly 
River,  and  scoffs  at  Endicott's  pretensions.  Has 
not  he  (the  Commissioner)  made  the  trip  in  the 
days  when  his  boat  was  showered  with  poisoned 
arrows  from  the  bush  every  time  it  was  obliged 
to  slow  down  at  the  curves  ?  And  has  he  not  lived 
a  year,  the  sole  white  man  in  a  back  district! 
Has  he  not  tramped  alone  through  a  country 
where  the  sudden  swerving  of  a  flight  of  birds 
meant  ambush?  Has  he  not  suffered  from  fevers 
and  dysentery  and  the  machinations  of  sorcerers  1 
As  for  him,  he  feels  only  pity  for  these  chaps  from 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  21 

Oxford  who  spend  three  months  in  a  place  and 
then  go  home  and  write  a  book  about  it. 

Here,  as  everywhere,  Hinbad,  the  prestige  of 
the  first  come  is  stoutly  maintained.  But  Miss 
Hale-Hale  at  the  mention  of  Oxford  became 
more  interested  in  the  explorer.  She  asked 
numerous  questions  about  him.  Did  any  one 
know  whether  he  was  one  of  the  Endicotts  of 
Surrey!  Was  he,  by  chance,  the  cousin  of  the 
Bishop  of  Chichester?  No  one  knew  or  cared,  so 
she  began  then  to  gather  further  information 
about  Papua.  She  turned  to  the  Captain: 

"These  mountains  in  the  interior  that  one  hears 
so  much  about — I  suppose  you  have  seen  them?" 

"I  see  them,"  replied  the  Captain. 

"Are  they  really  so  high?" 

"Ah,  very  high." 

"How  high,  then?" 

"So  high  as  that,"  he  replied,  waving  a  fat 
hand  at  the  ceiling. 

"But  how  high?"  she  persisted. 

The  Captain  knitted  his  brows.  "The  highest 
explored  is  thirteen  thousand  feet." 

"And  the  unexplored?"  inquired  Miss  Hale- 
Hale  calmly. 

The  Captain  looked  at  her  and  began  to  grow 


22  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

slowly   purple    about   the    face    and    neck.    He 
seemed  ready  to  choke. 

"She  must  ask  that  to  the  good  God,"  he  said 
finally. 

Brisbane,  Queensland. 
— November,  19 — . 

This  morning  when  I  awoke  the  Suydam  was  in 
the  still  waters  of  a  river,  and  I  looked  from  my 
port  on  the  tin  roofs  of  Brisbane.  On  deck  I 
encountered  Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  suddenly 
appeared  in  all  the  tropic  panoply  of  green-lined 
sun-helmet,  sun-glasses,  and  a  very  old  camera. 

" Going  on  shore?"  she  asked. 

The  deck  was  already  blazing  hot  and  the  river 
smelly.  I  suddenly  quailed  at  the  prospect. 

"It  is  so  hot,"  I  said  rather  feebly. 

She  regarded  me  with  a  grim  smile.  "You  had 
better  get  used  to  this. ' ' 

"But  I  don't  feel  very  well." 

Her  look  instantly  took  alarm. 

"I  say,  you  are  not  intending  to  have  fever,  are 
you?  Because  if  you  are  it  will  be  beastly  awk- 
ward." 

"If  I  intend,  as  you  say,  to  have  fever,  it  will 
be  awkward  only  for  me,"  I  replied  haughtily; 
for  no  one  relishes  so  unsympathetic  a  view  of 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  23 

even  possible  afflictions.  "You  need  not  distress 
yourself,"  I  added. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  need,"  she  replied,  gloomily  staring 
into  the  glassy  eye  of.  her  camera.  "Indeed  yes. 
It  would  be  I  who  would  look  after  you.  And  you 
would  take  such  a  horrible  amount  of  looking 
after,  too.  I  know  all  about  it,  unfortunately. 
Of  course,"  she  finished,  with  an  air  of  injured 
virtue,  "of  course  I  would  not  leave  you  to  the 
care  of  the  Malay  boys.  You  need  never  fear 
that." 

"What  an  excess  of  kindness,  Miss  Hale- 
Hale  !  Let  me,  in  my  turn,  assure  you  that  I  will 
cheerfully  assist  at  whatever  may  befall  you,  and 
if  you  die,  I  shall  see  that  they  do  not  throw  you 
overboard  to  the  sharks,  but  give  you  a  decent 
Christian  burial." 

She  ignored  me  entirely  and  inquired :  ' l  Have 
you  lots  of  drugs  I  I  mean  quinine  and  all  that  f ' ' 

"I  have  not;  but  I  have  a  sunshade." 

"That  will  not  do.  You  must  have  a  topee. 
One  can  not  go  about  in  a  silly  hat.  I  will  go  with 
you  right  now  to  get  one,  and  you  had  better  get 
one  like  mine,  for  it  is  the  most  becoming  kind. '  * 

I  doubted  the  last  part  of  this  statement,  but 
decided  to  go  with  her  nevertheless.  I  expected 
to  take  a  tram-car  or  walk;  but  Miss  Hale-Hale 


24  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

said  either  would  be  folly  on  account  of  the  heat, 
so  we  took  a  small  carriage — a  poor  relation 
evidently  of  the  victoria  family.  The  heat  was 
indeed  intense.  The  very  air  was  so  hazy  and 
opaque  that  it  gave  a  curious  blurred  perspective 
to  the  unkempt  town  straggling  up  and  down  hill 
on  each  side  of  a  winding  river.  In  the  business 
section  the  sidewalks  were  protected  against  the 
sun  by  tin  roofs  painted  in  red  and  white  stripes. 

At  a  shop  on  Queen  Street  we  bought  the  topee, 
not  without  an  intense  argument  in  which  I  tried 
to  buy  one  kind  while  my  adviser  insisted  I  buy 
another  that  shaded  more  completely  the  back  of 
the  neck,  a  most  vulnerable  spot,  it  seems. 

When  we  returned  to  our  carriage,  she  coolly 
gave  an  address  to  the  driver,  as  if  she  had  known 
the  place  all  her  life.  I  discovered  that,  as  they 
say  in  the  Mabinogin,  she  "had  another  pecul- 
iarity," namely,  that  of  possessing  letters  of 
introduction  to  people  in  every  port  where  we 
called,  not  to  speak  of  many  where  we  did  not. 
Since  Brisbane  seemed  to  offer  nothing  better  to 
do,  I  accompanied  her  without  comment,  realizing 
that,  in  her  own  way,  she  was  flattering  me  by  this 
inclusion  in  her  plans.  We  drove  up  a  very  steep 
hill  to  a  house  with  a  tin  roof,  built  upon  piles 
tin-plated  at  the  top.  The  garden  blazed  with 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  25 

gaudy  hibiscus,  red-gum  in  bloom,  and  jacaranda. 
At  the  door  a  servant  told  us  that  the  Charle- 
woods  were  at  their  station  back  on  the  Darling 
Downs,  but  that  they  had  received  Miss  Hale- 
Hale 's  letter,  and  had  sent  orders  that  she  be  en- 
tertained at  luncheon  and  be  given  the  use  of  the 
motor  for  the  afternoon.  He  invited  us  to  the 
veranda  for  morning  tea.  Miss  Hale-Hale  took 
this  news  as  most  expected,  and  gravely  pro- 
ceeded, with  me  in  her  wake,  to  the  veranda. 

Nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  to  me  than  the 
use  of  an  establishment  in  the  owner's  absence, 
but  we  were  not  destined  to  enjoy  it  unrestrict- 
edly, for  on  the  veranda  sat  a  man  in  a  wicker 
chair,  sipping  a  cup  of  tea. 

"The  other  guest,"  murmured  the  servant  dis- 
creetly— "Professor  Necker." 

I  was  struck  by  the  peculiar  bounty  of  these 
Australians,  who  seem  to  turn  their  unoccupied 
houses  into  caravansaries  for  their  friends  and 
their  friends '  friends  as  well. 

Miss  Hale-Hale  promptly  stated  who  we  were, 
and  the  other  guest  as  promptly  replied:  "My 
name  is  Necker,  but  I  am  not  a  professor,"  and 
he  scowled  after  the  departing  servant  who  had 
introduced  him  as  such.  He  had  risen  to  greet 
us,  and  he  now  drew  up  two  wicker  chairs  for  us 


26  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

and  put  the  tea-things  before  Miss  Hale-Hale. 

The  veranda  was  a  pleasant  place  shaded  with 
rattan  blinds,  looking  over  the  bright  garden  down 
to  the  river,  where  we  could  see  just  then  a  big 
English  mail-boat  steaming  up  toward  the  quay. 

"Have  you  ladies  come  off  the  Svydtunf"  asked 
the  other  guest. 

He  was  a  man  of  fifty,  I  should  imagine,  griz- 
zled as  to  hair,  with  a  big  brown  face  and  a 
strange  rumble  of  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come 
muffled  from  some  depth.  Something  in  his  ac- 
cent and  clothes  made  me  think  he  must  be  an 
American,  as  I  have  since  discovered  he  is.  "I 
have  just  come  down  from  the  Charlewoods '  place 
on  the  Downs,  and  I  am  sailing  on  the  Suydam 
myself  this  evening." 

We  expressed  the  usual  restrained  gratification 
at  this  intelligence,  and  Miss  Hale-Hale  added, 
"You  will  find  it  a  hot  trip,  Professor." 

"But  I  am  not  a  professor,"  insisted  the  guest 
— adding  unexpectedly,  "thank  heaven!" 

Miss  Hale-Hale  looked  a  bit  shocked. 

"I  '11  tell  you  what  I  do,"  he  went  on.  "I  col- 
lect raw  material  which  the  more  sedentary  pro- 
fessor must  afterward  classify  and  distribute." 

"What  sort  of  raw  material?"  we  asked. 

"Facts,"  he  murmured. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  27 

"But  what  sort  of  facts?" 

"Well,  chiefly  about  what  I  suppose  you  are 
accustomed  to  call  insects. ' ' 

*  *  Gracious ! ' '  exclaimed  Miss  Hale-Hale.  '  *  Are 
there  so  many  facts  about  insects!" 

"Quite  a  few,"  he  assured  her. 

"How  very  curious!  I  suppose  you  write 
books  then?" 

(To  write  a  book,  Hinbad,  please  remember,  is 
in  itself  a  respectable  employment;  even  gentle- 
men have  been  known  to  do  it.) 

"I  write  reports  that  are  often  published, "  he 
replied,  "but  you  would  scarcely  choose  them  to 
while  away  a  summer  afternoon." 

"Sometimes,"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale,  with  dig- 
nity, "I  read  very  serious  books.  I  think  one 
should  always  try  to  keep  up  a  bit  with  what  is 
going  on. ' ' 

"Do  you,  indeed?"  he  murmured. 

"But  I  prefer  novels.  Have  you  ever  read 
'The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth'?  I  like  it  very 
much  myself,  but  no  doubt  it  took  imagination  to 
write  a  book  like  that.  Perhaps  you  have  no  im- 
agination." 

The  other  guest  smiled.  "Some  people  have 
accused  me  of  it.  It  is  not  considered  a  desirable 
asset  in  my  line  of  work." 


28  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale.  "You 
mean  it  interferes  with  your  facts." 

"It  is  commonly  supposed  to." 

"But  you  don't  think  it  does?" 

"Why  should  it?  It  is  an  advantage,  in  my 
opinion,  to  be  able  to  project  one's  self  ahead. 
To  conceive  first  of  what  is  possible  is  a  great 
help  toward  proving  what  is  actual." 

"Gracious!"  exclaimed  Miss  Hale-Hale,  floun- 
dering several  fathoms  beyond  her  depth.  "But 
that  sounds  like  guessing." 

"It  is  guessing — accurately." 

He  took  a  note-book  from  his  pocket  and  asked 
us  if  we  would  like  to  see  some  of  his  drawings. 
"I  have  been  studying  termites,"  he  said,  "which 
are  often  called  'white  ants'  for  the  good  reason 
that  they  are  neither  white  nor  ants.  Here  are 
some  sketches  of  the  termite  city  at  Somerset, 
Cape  York." 

The  sketches  were  surprisingly  delicate  and  pre- 
cise, almost  ladylike.  As  he  showed  them  he  ex- 
plained to  us  the  construction  of  the  termitaria 
and  told  us  all  kinds  of  incredible  tilings  about 
their  communistic  systems,  their  cannibalism,  and 
their  castes.  In  the  midst  of  it  the  servant  re- 
turned to  announce  luncheon. 

Throughout  the  meal  I  ate  quantities  of  alliga- 
tor-pears with  Worcestershire  sauce,  to  the  great 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  29 

consternation  of  Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  maintains 
the  astounding  theory  that  tropic  fruits  are  dan- 
gerous when  eaten  in  the  tropics.  The  other 
guest  grew  quite  hot  over  this,  arguing  that  the 
force  which  we  commonly  call  nature  invariably 
produces  in  any  given  locality  a  diet  not  only 
the  outcome  of  the  conditions  but  also  suitable  to 
them.  He  added  that  he  thought  it  very  probable 
that  the  Worcestershire  sauce  might  kill  me,  but 
that  the  alligator-pears  certainly  would  not. 
Whereupon  Miss  Hale-Hale  retorted  that  the 
Worcestershire  sauce  was  manufactured  by  an 
English  firm  of  unimpeachable  respectability. 
To  which  statement  there  being  no  possible  reply, 
the  matter  ended. 

After  luncheon  we  drove  in  the  Charlewoods' 
motor  out  to  Lone  Tree  Hill — as  erroneously 
named  as  the  white  ants,  for  on  its  summit  grow  a 
number  of  stately  Moreton  Bay  fig-trees.  From 
this  vantage  we  looked  over  a  great  stretch  of 
Queensland,  pasture-lands  and  shaggy  gray-green 
bush,  all  dappled  with  sweeping  cloud  shadows 
that  made  it  look  like  a  constantly  shifting  check- 
er-board. At  six  o  'clock  we  returned  to  the  ship, 
which  was  about  to  sail. 

The  guest  filled  one  of  the  vacant  chairs  at  our 
table.  He  is  called  by  all  on  board  Mr.  Necker, 


30  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

but  Miss  Hale-Hale  persists  in  calling  him  "Pro- 
fessor/' either  from  an  absent  mind  or  because 
she  does  not  consider  him  to  have  sufficiently 
demonstrated  that  he  is  not  one. 

SINBAD. 

At  sea. 

— November,  19 — . 
Dear  Einbad: 

The  last  two  days  have  been  passed  in  astound- 
ing brilliance  of  light.  The  sea  is  smooth,  for  we 
are  passing  inside  the  Great  Barrier  Eeef,  and 
so  crystalline  that  I  half  expect  it  to  ring  against 
the  sides  of  the  ship.  In  the  west  lift  the  coastal 
mountains  of  northern  Australia,  seeming  almost 
within  reach,  for  in  this  luminous  and  shining  air 
mountains,  details  of  the  ship,  even  people's  faces, 
are  thrown  into  high  relief.  It  is  the  kind  of  day 
one  begins  with  a  feeling  of  shame  at  the  impos- 
sibility of  concealing  one 's  sins  in  the  face  of  such 
all-searching  splendor,  but  ends,  illogically,  by 
feeling  purged  of  all  sins  to  conceal. 

To-day  the  Commissioner  of  Native  Affairs  and 
Control  told  us  a  legend — or  fable,  as  I  should  call 
it — that  some  old  wife  of  Papua  once  told  to  him. 
And  since  the  moral  is  very  nicely  yet  obviously 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  31 

set  forth,  I  can  not  resist  retelling  it,  Hinbad,  for 
your  improvement. 

You  must  know  that  there  once  lived  in  the 
branches  of  a  tioba  tree  two  lizards,  one  of  which 
was  mute,  while  the  other  with  some  labor  could 
make  a  whistle  with  his  throat.  Every  evening 
the  women  of  a  near-by  village  would  gather 
under  the  tioba  tree  to  listen  to  his  strange  music. 

"How  very  beautiful!"  they  would  exclaim. 
"It  makes  me  want  to  dance."  "It  makes  me 
want  to  weep."  "Moreover,  it  is  something 
quite  new. '  ' 

Whereupon  the  mute  lizard,  hearing  them,  was 
ready  to  die  of  envy.  When  he  oould  endure  it 
no  longer,  he  set  to  work,  and  by  dint  of  great 
thought  and  labor  made  him  a  duraio,  or  flute, 
the  supreme  merit  of  which  was  that  it  produced 
not  alone  one  note  but  three.  This  feat  achieved, 
he  next  built  himself  a  platform  on  the  tioba  tree 
for  his  more  graceful  accommodation,  and  sat 
there  awaiting  the  evening. 

At  sunset  he  watched  the  women  gather  until 

there  was  a  sufficient  number,  when  the  whistling 

.lizard,   after  his   custom,   set  up  his   one  note. 

Promptly  the  mute  lizard  blew  upon  his  duraio  in 

a  manner  at  once  so  charming  and  so  startling 


32  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

that  not  a  woman  but  caught  her  breath  and 
crowded  for  space  beneath  his  platform. 

"But  this  is  much  more  beautiful!"  one  cried. 
"It  is  the  voice  of  the  one  I  love!"  exclaimed  an- 
other, while  all  unanimously  agreed  that  it  was 
quite  the  newer  of  the  two. 

This  should  have  been  well  enough;  but,  alas, 
there  is  no  moderation  in  women.  Not  content  to 
listen  from  below,  they  must  needs  display  their 
eagerness  and  admiration  by  climbing  up  to  the 
platform.  And,  there  being  many  of  them  and 
their  weight  great,  the  platform  broke,  so  that 
women  and  aspiring  lizard  all  fell  to  the  ground 
and  were  killed ! 

And  now,  my  dear  Hinbad,  since  there  are  some 
people  who  never  see  the  point  of  any  jest  or 
fable  or  allegory,  no  matter  how  spearlike  it  ob- 
trudes itself,  and  since  you  may  be  one  of  those, 
let  me  finish  by  quoting  to  you  Miss  Hale-Hale  rs 
comment  on  the  tale.  About  an  hour  afterward, 
as  we  were  going  down  to  bathe  and  dress  for 
dinner,  she  said,  apropos  of  nothing  that  had  im- 
mediately taken  place:  "Well,  after  all,  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  being  too  clever  by  half." 

The  first  sounds  I  hear  every  morning  are  a 
gentle  wash  of  water  along  the  sides  of  the  ship 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  33 

and  the  voice  of  Pomidin,  my  Malay  boy,  squatted 
outside  my  door,  singing  an  aubade  of  five  hun- 
dred words  on  five  notes.  Gradually  these 
awaken  me.  I  arise,  take  a  warm  salt  bath  fol- 
lowed by  a  cold  salt  bath,  this  combination  pro- 
ducing a  tingle  of  fleeting  and  deceptive  energy — 
a  false  animation  that  generally  lasts  no  longer 
than  the  end  of  breakfast. 

But  this  ceremony  of  breakfast  is  in  itself  no 
meager  taxation  on  the  strength  of  one  unaccus- 
tomed to  a  tropic  climate  or  Dutch  appetites. 
When  one  enters  the  dining-room  one  is  at  once 
taken  in  charge  by  a  dozen  piratical-seeming 
young  gentlemen  wearing  batik  turbans  twisted 
in  divers  modes,  sometimes  tilted  over  one  eye, 
sometimes  coiled  like  a  small  snake  ready  to 
strike.  They  are  numbered,  which  is  fortunate, 
for  to  me  at  least  there  would  be  little  chance  of 
telling  them  apart.  I  find  myself  most  often  in 
the  charge  of  Lima  (No.  5),  whom  I  also  distin- 
guish by  a  mustache  of  three  hairs  growing  on 
each  side  of  his  lip;  but  I  am  pretty  much  sub- 
ject to  the  attention  of  all,  one  turning  the  chair, 
another  arranging  knives  and  forks  or  bringing 
water,  and  still  another  listening  gravely  to  the 
order  given  before  he  departs  to  bring  exactly 
what  he  himself  judges  to  be  suitable.  You  can 


34  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

readily  see  that  no  mere  ordinary  aggregation  of 
dishes  could  or  should  be  associated  with  this 
barbaric  service.  Well,  judge  for  yourself 
whether  this  be  an  ordinary  aggregation.  First 
of  all,  a  sumptuous  array  of  oranges,  bananas, 
mangos,  custard-apples,  and  mangosteens;  then 
fish  strangely  dried  or  supposedly  fresh,  Dutch 
Edam  cheese,  toast,  biscuits,  cold  ham,  cold  beef ; 
European  marmalade,  with  quantities  of  exotic 
tropic  jellies ;  eggs,  of  course ;  and  last  of  all  the 
extraordinary  pungent  coffee  of  Java. 

I  swear  to  you,  Hinbad,  on  the  honor  of  a  trav- 
eler,— which  is  beyond  reproach,  as  every  one 
knows, — that  I  have  watched  Captain  Eoggevene 
consume  substantial  portions  of  every  one  of  these 
things  at  the  same  breakfast.  Yet,  after  such  a 
feat,  instead  of  rolling  over  into  antique  Saxon 
slumbers,  he  goes  up  on  the  bridge  and  navigates 
us  across  the  treacherous  reefs  before  Port 
Moresby.  I  am  told  that  once  he  even  took  this 
boat  over,  some  time  after  a  Dutch  dinner,  in  the 
dark  of  the  moon — a  thing  afterward  attempted 
(minus  the  dinner)  by  the  Merrie  England,  which 
in  consequence  now  stands  black  and  battered 
upon  the  outer  reefs.  Truly  an  astounding 
people,  these  Dutch  I 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  35 

Port  Moresby,  Papua. 
— November,  19 — . 

This  morning  after  breakfast  I  went  up  on  deck 
to  find  us  unexpectedly  facing  a  tremendous 
drowned  coast-line  of  hills  running  parallel  to  the 
coast.  We  were  sliding  in  still  water  through 
tangles  of  reef.  Already  the  highlands  of  the 
interior  were  sinking  behind  nearer  hills,  barren, 
since  it  is  the  dry  season,  of  all  but  scattered 
eucalyptus.  Just  ahead  the  tin  roofs  of  Port 
Moresby  blazed  in  the  sun,  while  to  the  left  of 
them  along  the  shore  clung  like  some  unwhole- 
some fungus  the  Papuan  villages  of  Hanuatada 
and  Borabada.  Several  outriggers  glided  swiftly 
toward  us  across  the  water. 

As  soon  as  we  had  dropped  anchor,  I  looked 
over  the  side  into  the  upturned  face  of  a  Papuan, 
who  stood  balanced  on  the  prow  of  his  wanagi, 
holding  for  inspection  a  comb  of  bamboo  split 
at  one  end  and  decorated  with  cassowary  feath- 
ers. There  was  a  piece  of  bone  stuck  straight 
through  the  septum  of  his  nose,  and  his  wool 
stood  out  a  foot  all  around  his  head.  Back  of 
him  the  water  of  the  bay  shone  and  vibrated 
electrically  under  the  intense  light.  I  can  not 
tell  you  how  startled  I  was  by  the  sudden  revela- 
tion of  this  strange,  vast  country  so  close  at  hand, 


36  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

which  I  could  yet  only  hope  to  peer  at  momentar- 
ily, as  through  a  crack  in  the  door. 

When  I  went  down  to  my  cabin  to  get  my 
topee,  I  met  Miss  Hale-Hale,  wearing  as  an  addi- 
tion to  her  charms  a  pair  of  sickish-yellow  sun- 
spectacles.  In  her  hand  she  held  another  pair, 
similar  save  that  they  were  perhaps  older,  for 
an  unpleasant  overtone  of  green  had  begun  to 
tinge  them.  I  sensed  at  once  a  fatal  connection 
between  this  second  pair  and  myself,  which  I 
tried  to  avert  by  effusive  verbosity. 

"Come  in  <and  sit  down,"  I  said.  "I  was  just 
saying  to  myself,  *  Where  can  Miss  Hale-Hale 
be?  It  would  be  so  jolly  to  go  on  shore  with  her 
now  while  it  is  still  cool,  or  at  least  what  passes 
for  cool  in  this  country/  " 

"These  spectacles,"  she  replied,  "I  found  at 
the  very  bottom  of  one  of  my  boxes.  They  are 
for  you.  And  if  you  don't  wear  them  you  '11 
go  sun-blind."  She  handed  them  to  me.  I  took 
them;  then  as  she  turned  to  go  she  added:  "Oh, 
I  meant  to  tell  you  that  you  and  I  and  the  Pro- 
fessor and  the  Captain  are  invited  to  take  tiffin 
on  shore  at  the  Commissioner's  house.  His 
launch  will  be  out  for  us  in  a  few  minutes. 
You  '11  just  about  have  time  to  powder  your  nose, 
or  whatever  you  usually  do." 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  37 

Miss  Hale-Hale  spurns  all  so-called  aids  to 
pulchritude,  from  rice  powder  to  becoming  clothes, 
and  she  is  not  unaware  of  my  weakness,  along 
these  lines. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone  I  took  the  spectacles 
to  the  port,  with  the  intention  of  throwing  them 
overboard — when  you,  Hinbad,  appeared  before 
me  in  the  form  of  a  djinn. 

"What    are    you    doing?"    you    demanded. 

I  replied  that  I  was  about  to  empty  a  glass  of 
water  (or  something  similar) ;  but  there  is  no 
deceiving  you  when  you  appear  in  that  form. 

"Those  are  yellow  spectacles,"  you  said; 
"greenish-yellow  spectacles,  the  gift  of  Miss 
Hale-Hale,  which  you  are  too  vain  to  wear  I" 

"'My  Nemesis,"  I  replied,  "how  I  wish  you 
could  contrive  to  appear  at  those  moments — 
numerous  enough — when  I  am  really  anxious  to 
see  you ! ' ' 

"Well,  well,"  you  lamented,  "is  this  my  reward 
for  the  pains  I  take  to  look  after  you?  You  think 
this  is  enjoyable  to  me,  perhaps?  I  would  like  to 
see  any  one  else  willing,  like  myself,  to  be  roused 
in  the  middle  of  the  night — for  the  distribution  of 
day  and  night  is  unhappily  such  that  it  is"  always 
my  bedtime  when  you  are  gadding  about — 
1  should  like  to  see  any  one  else,  I  say,  willing  to 


38  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

travel  ten  or  twelve  thousand  miles,  regardless 
of  all  intervening  weathers,  in  one  second.  I  tell 
you,  it  is  most  fatiguing.  It  is  beginning  to  tell 
on  my  health.  And  it  is  not  as  if  I  received  any 
gratitude  for  it!"  You  sniffed  a  little. 

' '  Oh,  Hinbad, ' '  I  cried,  repentant  at  once,  * '  say 
no  more,  for  you  are  catching  cold  even  now.  G-o 
home  to  bed,  and  I  promise  to  wear  the  glasses 
this  time." 

So  you  vanished. 

The  Commissioner's  house  is  on  the  hill.  It 
is  tin-roofed,  of  course,  with  a  veranda  where 
hang  air-plants  of  various  species,  "stag-horns" 
and  orchids,  and  where,  as  long  as  we  could 
endure  the  heat,  we  sat  looking  into  the  street 
below.  A  few  white  men  passed  on  their  way  to 
the  post-office  at  the  pier  for  their  monthly  mail. 
Later  some  Papuan  women,  tattooed  to  the  waist, 
went  by  carrying  fagots.  The  Commissioner 
calls  their  grass  skirt  a  ridi,  and  you  can  not  pic- 
ture the  coquetry  with  which,  catching  our  observ- 
ant eyes,  they  switched  them  about  like  so  many 
silk  petticoats. 

The  luncheon,  so  often  among  civilized  persons 
the  ostensible  motive  of  a  visit,  was  an  array  of 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  39 

canned  things  served  around  a  curious  native 
curry.  We  drank  tea  and  also  champagne,  which 
the  Commissioner  had  brought  from  the  ship,  but 
it  had  lost  its  zest  and  was  served  distressingly 
lukewarm,  owing  to  the  absence  of  ice  in  Port 
Moresby. 

Fortunately,  we  were  not  obliged  to  spend  the 
day  in  the  darkened  house  of  the  Commissioner, 
looking  through  Venetian  blinds  on  to  a  hot  empty 
street,  a  saddle  of  bare  hill,  and  a  patch  of  blue 
sky;  for  at  about  four  o'clock  we  got  into  the 
Commissioner's  launch  to  go  over  to  the  villages 
on  the  other  side  of  the  bay.  It  is  characteristic  of 
the  tropics  that  one  invariably  takes  the  water 
route  in  preference  to  that  by  land;  yet  even  at 
this  hour,  in  a  moving  boat  under  awnings,  it  was 
well-nigh  unendurably  hot. 

The  villages,  as  we  neared  them,  stood  out  like 
pictures  cut  from  a  school  geography  under  the 
heading  "Life  in  the  Torrid  Zone."  They  rose 
on  piles  half  in  the  water,  half  on  shore,  a  tangle 
of  bamboo  eaves,  galleries,  and  crazy  stairways, 
backed  by  groves  of  white-trunked  slanting  cocoa- 
palms,  which  cast  their  diapers  of  shade  over  the 
beach.  The  sea  air  was  acrid  with  smells  of  dried 
fish,  oil,  wet  bamboo,  refuse,  and  wood  smoke  from 
the  numerous  fires  under  the  trees,  where  women 


42  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

West  End  Avenue,"  there  could  have  been  no 
greater  unresponsiveness.  I  therefore  essayed 
a  primitive  explanation.  "See  that  ship!"  I 
said,  pointing  to  the  Suydam  across  the  water. 
They  nodded.  "Go  in  that  ship  one  day,  two 
days,  three  days,"  I  counted  off  on  my  fingers 
an  inconceivable  number  of  days,  "ten  days, 
twelve  days,  sixteen  days — "  Their  eyes  bulged 
as  they  followed  my  countings:  "Twenty  days, 
thirty  days,  forty  days."  I  thought  I  might  as 
well  stop  there.  "Forty  days,  then  come  along 
America.  Savvy  ? ' ' 

"How!"  gasped  the  small  headman.  "My 
word,  him  too  far." 

The  Commissioner,  with  the  Professor  and  the 
Captain,  approached  to  tell  me  that  we  are  in- 
vited to  drink  a  cocoanut  at  the  headman  *s  house. 
Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  had  been  standing  a  bit 
apart  gazing  fixedly  at  the  ground,  joined  us.  I 
think  we  both  felt  a  tingle  of  apprehension  that 
under  these  obscure  tangles  of  eaves  we  might  see 
some  sight  too  crude  for  our  civilized  souls.  We 
went  almost  reluctantly,  and  at  the  foot  of  the 
first  shaking  ladder  I  was  for  turning  back;  but 
the  burly  Dutch  Captain  took  my  arm  to  assist 
me,  and  sometiow  he  did  not  seem  the  kind  of  per- 
son who  would  lead  us  into  anything  dreadful. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  43 

So  we  climbed  up,  along  a  pier,  across  a  veranda, 
and  into  the  house. 

Inside  it  was  suddenly  cool  and  dark.  As  my 
eyes  grew  accustomed,  I  saw  first  beneath  the 
floor  the  water  glancing  about  piles  on  which  the 
house  was  built,  and  gradually  a  kind  of  suffusing 
glow  that  came  from  I  knew  not  where.  Down 
the  center  of  the  room  ran  a  strip  of  linoleum,  on 
which  stood  a  table  likewise  covered  with  lino- 
leum, and  on  it  were  a  hurricane-lamp,  two  china 
salt-  and  pepper-cellars,  a  small  mirror,  and  what 
appeared  to  be  the  remains  of  a  long  defunct  jelly- 
fish. In  a  corner  stood  several  wooden  neck-rests. 
Posters  of  the  K.  P.  M.  and  Burns  Philip  com- 
panies decorated  the  walls. 

But  as  my  eyes  traveled  upward  they  fell  on  a 
chandelier-like  ornament  of  bird-of-paradise 
feathers  hanging  from  the  roof-beam.  It  hung 
with  all  the  poise  of  arrested  flight,  a  few  rays  of 
light  caught  in  the  fiery  meshes  of  plumage,  so 
that  it  appeared  to  diffuse  of  itself  the  vaporous 
brightness  I  had  noticed.  The  gloom  of  the  house 
became  suddenly  as  beautiful  from  its  presence  as 
if  a  friendly  spirit  had  hovered  there. 

I  was  loath  to  leave  it  for  the  glare  of  the  back 
veranda  over  the  sea,  but  here  we  must  sit  to  wait 
while  the  headman  sent  a  man  up  a  near-by  trunk 


40  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

in  grass  skirts  baked  clay  pots  at  the  ends  of  long 
poles. 

When  we  landed,  I  saw  that  some  men  also 
were  busy  around  a  charred  log  big  enough  for  a 
fair-sized  wcmagi,  and  one  old  woman  sat  off  by 
herself,  braiding  grasses.  These  occupations  did 
not  cease  at  our  arrival,  nor  was  any  curiosity 
betrayed;  but  the  work  went  on  with  a  kind  of 
abstraction,  as  if  the  purpose  of  it  all  had  become 
suddenly  vague.  The  old  women  and  men  in  the 
dusk  of  the  galleries,  evidently  idle  before  we 
arrived,  became  even  more  listlessly  inert.  The 
Commissioner  spoke  to  several  of  the  men  whom 
he  had  evidently  not  seen  since  his  return,  and  I 
took  advantage  of  this  moment  to  accustom  my- 
self as  much  as  possible  to  the  almost  complete 
nakedness  of  the  populace;  for,  say  what  you 
will,  Hinbad,  we  have  worn  clothes  too  long  to  be 
unabashed  by  an  abrupt  revelation  of  the  faults 
and  perfections  of  the  human  body. 

I  sat  on  an  overturned  outrigger,  and  presently 
a  number  of  little  boys  gathered  around  me,  gig- 
gling suppressedly  and  standing  first  on  one  foot 
and  then  on  the  other.  A  boy  came  forward 
as  spokesman,  and  said  to  me  something  like 
this:  "Misi,  my  speak  English;  my  go  longa 
school. '  * 


LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN  41 

Here,  then,  was  manifestly  an  opportunity  for 
one  of  those  conversations  that,  it  would  appear, 
all  travelers  have,  and  that  give  so  sharp  an 
insight  into  the  inexpressible  depths  of  the  native 
mind  that  one  is  enabled  to  go  home  and  write  an 
authoritative  book  about  it.  But,  faced  with  this 
opportunity,  I  found  myself  smitten  by  a  curious 
racial  self-consciousness,  if  that  is  a  suitable 
name  for  it.  It  seemed  an  absurdity  to  try  to 
span  with  a  question  the  gulf  between  this  urchin 
and  myself,  and  indeed  nothing  could  exceed  the 
dullness  of  what  I  finally  asked: 

"Do  you  live  here!-" 

"Yes,  Misi,"  the  same  boy  replied,  pointing  to 
his  house,  which  was  indistinguishable  to  me,  for 
I  could  not  tell  where  one  began  or  the  other 
ended. 

"Belonga  headman,''  he  added,  inflating  his 
small  chest  pridefully. 

* ' How  very  nice ! "  I  said.  (It  occurs  to  me  that 
this  is  exactly  the  remark  Miss  Hale-Hale  would 
have  made.  Is  it  possible  I  am  unconsciously 
imitating  her?)  The  boy  consulted  his  friends 
for  a  moment  before  speaking  again. 

" Where  Misi  live?"  he  asked. 

"America." 

Had  I  said  * '  Ninety-second  Street,  the  corner  of 


44  LETTERS  TO  A  DJ1NN 

for  the  cocoanuts.  Here  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I 
soon  discovered  a  fiber  cradle  swung  from  the 
roof  in  which  lay  a  Papuan  girl  baby,  black,  dim- 
pled all  over,  and  unencumbered  by  clothes. 
There  was  no  racial  self -consciousness  where  she 
was  concerned.  We  said  innumerable  silly  things 
to  her,  while  she  responded  unaffectedly  by 
snatching  at  the  chain  around  my  neck  and  blow- 
ing bubbles  with  her  lips. 

Here,  at  least,  was  no  alien. 

When  the  cocoanuts  appeared,  the  headman 
split  the  green  husks  on  a  sharp  stake,  and  him- 
self prepared  them  by  gripping  them  between  his 
feet  and  tearing  with  tooth  and  nail.  This  was, 
owing  to  the  peculiarities  of  his  appearance, 
unappetizing  in  the  extreme.  His  outstanding 
wool  was  decorated  with  a  comb,  a  red  cotton- 
flower,  and  quantities  of  shirt  buttons.  Through 
the  septum  of  his  nose  ran  a  piece  of  shell,  but 
apart  from  that  he  wore  only  a  loin-clout. 
His  body  was  strangely  ridged  and  scarred,  while 
his  teeth  were  mere  stumps  swimming  in  the 
blood-red  saliva  of  the  betel-chewer,  and  to  this  he 
added  a  squint-eyed  villainy  of  expression,  with 
a  trick  of  constant  mechanical  smiling  nothing 
short  of  nightmare.  That  the  baby  in  the  ham- 
•mock-cradle  could  belong  to  him  was  preposter- 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  45 

cms.  I  made  the  Commissioner  question  him  sev- 
eral times;  but,  while  he  invariably  claimed  her 
paternity,  I  still  have  the  unreasonable  hope  that 
he  lied. 

Meanwhile,  apparently  flattered  by  my  ques- 
tions, he  sat  himself  opposite  me,  pointing  with 
smiles  at  the  lumps  of  pinkish  sago  bound  in  pan- 
danus,  at  his  pots  newly  baked,  and  at  all  the  litter 
of  the  much-lived-in  veranda.  He  sent  a  stout 
woman,  who  was  no  doubt  his  wife,  into  the  house 
to  bring  out  various  objects  of  interest,  which 
were  laid  in  my  lap — fiber  bags,  arrows  tipped 
with  cassowary  bone,  man-catchers,  spears,  bam- 
boo blow-pipes,  all  manner  of  treasure,  which  so 
he  indicated  belonged  entirely  to  him.  The  pride 
of  possession  swelled  visibly  in  him.  See  under 
the  porch  the  great  wanagi  inlaid  with  shells  about 
the  prow — that  too  was  his.  This  house  and  all  it 
contained  was  his.  This  woman  was  his,  and  per- 
haps several  others  besides.  But  I  am  wrong  in 
placing  the  woman  as  the  climax  of  his  wealth. 
She,  of  course,  was  a  creature  of  infinite  unimpor- 
tance. It  would  be  interesting  to  know  just  what 
of  his  he  would  rate  as  most  valuable — un- 
doubtedly the  son  I  had  just  met  on  the  beach.  As 
I  looked  from  him  to  the  Commissioner,  it  seemed 
incredible  that  these  two  could  go  on  existing  in 


46  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

such  proximity  without  the  life  of  each  being 
vitally,  visibly  modified  by  the  other. 

As  for  the  Commissioner,  he  and  the  Professor 
were  talking  of  Endicott  the  explorer,  and  the 
Professor  said  he  never  could  understand  a  man 
foolish  enough  to  go  in  for  anthropology,  where 
here  was  all  geology,  biology,  zoology,  and  the 
Lord  knew  what  else  of  fundamentals,  lying  rank 
for  exploration.  It  reminded  him,  he  said,  of  a 
man  who  began  the  construction  of  a  much-needed 
house  by  working  elaborately  on  the  roof.  The 
Commissioner  reiterated  that  no  chap  could  learn 
anything  of  the  natives  in  three  months.  He 
himself  knew  nothing  of  them  after  ten  years. 

I  asked  the  Captain  if  he  had  seen  the  Explorer, 
and  he  said  yes,  that  he  had  come  on  his  ship. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  I  asked. 

"He  is  English,"  said  the  Captain,  as  if  that 
said  everything.  Then  he  added:  "But  also  he 
is  very  pretty.'* 

"Impossible!"  cried  Miss  Hale-Hale  indig- 
nantly. "No  Englishman  is  pretty." 

But  the  Captain  only  said,  "  So ! "  and  gazed  at 
her  with  mild  contemplation  in  his  small  eyes. 

When  the  launch  took  us  back  to  the  Suydam 
it  was  sunset.  Sea  and  sky  were  red,  the  sun  was 
level  with  our  eyes,  and  all  the  broken  hills  of 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  47 

Papua  had  merged  into  one  bold  outline,  formid- 
able, menacing,  yet  compelling  with  all  the  entice- 
ment of  the  unknown. 

The  ship's  launch  was  just  leaving  the  pier, 
but  we  reached  the  gangway  first  and  went  on 
deck.  Here  on  a  table  stood  lemon  squashes, 
cool  and  tinkling, which  Miss  Hale-Hale,  the  Pro- 
fessor, and  I  sat  sipping  while  the  Captain  went 
to  the  upper  deck.  Presently  we  heard  the  ship  *s 
launch  below,  and  two  burly  Papuan  boys  ap- 
peared up  the  gangway,  carrying  metal  boxes 
coated  with  napthalin. 

"Careful,  now,"  called  a  voice  over  the  side. 
More  boxes  appeared,  and  the  Professor  jumped 
up  to  eye  them.  "Specimens,"  he  muttered; 
then,  reading  aloud  the  name  written  on  them  in 
white  letters,  "  *F.  Jarvis  Endicott.'  So  here  is 
the  anthropologist!" 

He  walked  around  them,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"I  wonder  what  he  can  have  gotten?  Skulls 
and  thigh-bones,  no  doubt.  All  trash!"  He  sat 
himself  down  on  one  of  the  boxes  and  began  to 
look  carefully  at  the  seams. 

Just  then  two  more  "boys"  appeared.  They 
carried  between  them,  in  a  seat  made  of  their 
hands,  a  man  in  a  white  duck  suit.  Even  in  the 
dimming  light  I  saw  that  this  suit  was  spotlessly 


48  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

clean  and  creaseless,  though  one  foot  was  thickly 
bandaged  and  the  leg  hung  stiff  from  the  knee. 
He  leaned  against  the  shoulder  and  arm  of  one 
Papuan,  and  his  face  was  curiously  pallid  in  spite 
of  sunburn,  and  drawn  with  pain.  Yet,  for  all 
that,  there  was  a  dapperness  and  precision  about 
the  set  of  his  clothes  and  even  the  part  of  his 
smooth  hair  that  gave  him  a  startlingly  'civilized 
aspect  in  the  midst  of  his  outlandish  attendants. 

When  they  sat  him  down  rather  awkwardly  in 
a  chair,  he  only  said  "Careful"  once  more,  with 
no  trace  of  irritability,  and  leaning  back  closed 
his  eyes. 

Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  hovered,  startled  and 
sympathetic,  uncertain  what  to  do;  but  the  Pro- 
fessor, drumming  with  his  legs  against  the  boxes 
to  attract  attention,  began  without  preamble : 

"Ah — Mr.  Endicott — iah,  I  see  you  've  brought 
back  such  boxes  full  of  stuff  that  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  a  question  or  two.  Coleoptera,  now — 
this  is  not  your  line,  of  course,  but  I  was  wonder- 
ing if  you  could  possibly  have  stumbled  on  any- 
thing interesting  in  Coleopteraf" 

This  indecent  lack  of  restraint  left  me  quite 
breathless,  but,  far  from  resenting  it,  the  Ex- 
plorer opened  his  eyes  and  looked  thoughtfully  at 
the  Professor. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  49 

"Coleoptera?"  he  said.  "Why,  yes,  I  believe 
I  did  come  on  some  rather  curious  specimens.  I 
took  them  roughly  for  Cerambycida  and  some 
resembling  Cicindelidce;  but  I  don't  go  in  for 
that,  so  I  am  rather  at  a  loss  to  classify  them. 
However,  they  are  in  one  of  my  boxes,  doubtless 
the  one  you  are  sitting  on.  Perhaps  you  might 
like  to  have  a  look  at  them  later  on. ' ' 

"I  should  say  I  would!"  cried  the  Professor. 
"What  a  field  it  must  have  been — what  a  field! 
And  you  frittering  your  time  away  at  anthro- 
pology !" 

"Besides  that,"  said  the  Explorer,  "I  seem  to 
remember  a  bit  of  amber  Coleoptera — probably 
oligocene." 

"Great  Scott,  man,  I  must  have  a  look  at  that !" 
The  Professor  jumped  from  the  box,  and  seemed 
on  the  point  of  wringing  either  the  Explorer's 
hand  or  his  neck  when  I  intervened. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  a  glass  of  squash,  Mr. 
Endicott?"  I  said,  holding  one  out  to  him.  "It 
is  cool  and  you  must  be  very  hot." 

He  blushed  a  startled  red  at  the  sight  of 
me,  and  tried  to  rise,  forgetful  that  he  could 
not. 


50  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"How  awfully  good  of  you!"  he  said,  taking  it. 
"Thanks  very  much." 

Apparently  the  brusqueness  of  the  Professor 
had  left  him  more  unmoved  than  this  slight  cour- 
tesy. But  the  Professor,  under  the  fierce  eye  of 
Miss  Hale-Hale,  felt  his  better  emotions  strug- 
gling to  the  surface. 

"I  didn't  realize  that  you  were  ill,"  he  said. 
"I  am  afraid  I  must  have  seemed  rude.  Won't 
you  let  me  do  something  for  you?  I  see  you  have 
hurt  your  leg. ' ' 

The  Explorer  looked  across  at  the  dark  shore 
of  Papua  as  if  he  saw  deep  into  all  its  hidden 
highlands  and  valleys.  "I  have  indeed,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  limp  the  rest  of  my  life.  But  that  is  not 
so  bad,"  he  added  hastily;  "for  a  short  time  ago 
I  expected  to  lose  it  altogether." 

"How  dreadful!"  cried  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I. 

"Perhaps  I  should  say,  then,  that  I  expected 
to  lose  it,  in  the  conviction  that  fate  would  go 
to  the  trouble  of  proving  me  wrong.  She  does 
that  sometimes,  you  know." 

"Why  is  it,"  exclaimed  the  Professor  in  a  draw- 
ing-room conversational  tone,  "that  when  we 
assign  personality  to  a  force  so  essentially  capri- 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  51 

cious  as  the  supposed  force  of  fate,  we  should 
inevitably  conceive  it  to  be  feminine?  No  one 
ever  calls  fate  'he/  And  countries,  too.  Take 
England,  Germany,  America,  they  are  all  Brit- 
tannia,  Germania,  Columbia.  No  one  would  think 
of  making  them  masculine,  because  the  ludicrous 
unevenness  and  variability  of  the  courses  and 
policies  they  pursue  make  them  utterly  inconsis- 
tent with  the  masculine  temper.  Why,  even  ships 
— take  ships — " 

But  during  this  discourse,  which  I  burned  to 
interrupt  and  deny,  the  Explorer,  who  had  been 
turning  gradually  paler,  closed  his  eyes  with  a 
sudden  relaxed  movement  of  the  head.  Even  the 
Professor  noticed  it,  and  stopped  short,  while  the 
rest  of  us  looked  at  the  Explorer  a  few  minutes 
uneasily.  He  did  not  move,  and  his  boys,  who 
stood  against  the  rail,  began  to  whisper  among 
themselves  and  to  nudge  each  other. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  has  fainted? "  asked  the 
Professor  finally. 

"I  should  not  wonder  if  he  had,"  I  replied. 

"But  don't  you  know? "  he  fairly  shouted  at  me. 

"No;  do  you?  What  are  people  in  the  habit 
of  doing  when  you  treat  them  with  the  delicate 
consideration  we  have  just  witnessed?  If  I  were 


52  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

you  I  would  call  the  doctor  at  once,  and  be  thank- 
ful if  he  does  not  lose  his  leg  after  all,  from  fever 
or  inflammation  or  something." 

" Young  lady!"  cried  the  Professor,  exas- 
perated and  alarmed. 

But  just  then  the  Explorer  opened  his  eyes  and 
said  he  would  like  to  go  to  bed,  if  possible.  He 
beckoned  to  his  boys,  who  started  forward.  But 
the  Professor  intercepted  them. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  cried.  "I  can  be  more 
gentle  than  they,  I  am  sure.'7 

But  the  Explorer  shook  his  head  and  let  his 
Papuans  lift  him  from  the  chair.  The  Professor 
followed  them  down  the  deck,  adjuring  them  to 
be  very  careful,  while  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  came 
next,  partly  to  be  sure  everything  went  well, 
partly  to  annoy  the  Professor.  Inside  the  door 
the  idea  of  going  for  the  doctor  struck  us  all 
simultaneously,  and  all  three  rushed  down  the 
corridor  to  fetch  him. 

So  we  welcomed  the  Explorer  aboard  the  Suy- 
dam.  SINBAD. 

At  sea. 

—  December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hiribad : 
This  morning  I  felt  a  touch  of  something  or 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  53 

other, — fever  possibly, — and  at  breakfast  the  Cap- 
tain insisted  that  I  drink  many  cnps  of  hot  tea,  so 
I  "transpire  freely."  I  did  this  in  my  cabin,  and 
the  sweating  seemed  to  cure  me.  Later  I  hap- 
pened to  stray  up  the  forbidden  companionway 
to  the  boat-deck  where  the  Captain's  cabin  is. 
When  I  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  I  stumbled 
over  a  Siamese  cat,  and  a  parrot  screamed  at  me 
from  a  near-by  perch.  Just  ahead  loomed  the 
great  bulk  of  Captain  Roggevene,  looking  through 
a  pair  of  binoculars.  Something  unfamiliar  in 
Ms  outline  made  me  pause,  but  I  had  backed  down 
two  or  three  steps  before  I  fully  realized  that  he 
was  arrayed  in  pink  silk  pajamas,  striped  and  be- 
tasseled.  Before  I  could  disappear  he  turned  his 
binoculars  in  the  direction  of  my  still  visible  head, 
and  I  saw  his  face  slowly  purple.  At  lunch  I 
apologized  for  invading  forbidden  territory. 

"I  do  not  speak  to  her,"  he  explained,  "be- 
cause of  my  closes.  In  Java  such  closes  they 
wear  in  public,  but  never  after  nine  o  'clock,  and  it 
is  eleven  o'clock  when  she  comes."  The  con- 
cern, then,  had  been  for  his  breach  of  this  strange 
East  Indian  etiquette,  which  I  am  just  beginning 
to  learn  something  of.  One  phase  of  it  is  the 
"rice  taffel,"  served  for  the  first  time  to-day  in 
place  of  lunch.  Though  I  love  to  talk  of  food,  I 


54  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

love  not  to  talk  of  this  food,  and  yet  it  is  so  curi- 
ous that  I  must  tell  you  of  it.  A  basin  of  rice, 
really  excellently  white,  is  placed  before  one,  and 
a  procession  started  of  ten  or  so  boys,  each  carry- 
ing a  dish  of  sauces,  curried,  garlicked,  spiced, 
of  dried  distorted  fish,  chicken,  mummied  eggs, 
chutneys,  gingers,  what  not,  to  be  piled  all  of 
them  atop  of  the  rice.  When  the  ten  are  through 
they  turn  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  reappear  with 
new  dishes,  like  the  Roman  army  that  marches 
and  remarches  before  the  drop-curtain. 

'Captain  Roggevene  says  this  dish  is  part  In- 
dian, part  Hollandish.  He  maintains  it  has  good 
qualities  from  each.  The  Professor  professes  to 
find  it  a  form  of  contest,  the  object  being  to  see 
which  man  can  first  eat  himself  into  view.  How- 
ever, I  must  admit  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  eat 
it  at  all,  for  a  person  whose  tastes  chance  to  be 
more  Hollandish  than  Indian  can  always  demand 
and  get  at  any  time  Hollandish  food,  than  which,  I 
maintain,  there  is  none  better  on  earth. 

After  lunch  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  discovered,  at 
the  glassed-in  fore  part  of  the  promenade-deck, 
the  Professor  and  the  Explorer  seated  side  by 
side.  The  Explorer  was  still  pale,  with  a  strained 
look  around  the  eyes,  the  Professor  heated  and 
rhetorical.  At  our  interruption  he  looked  very 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  55 

plainly  annoyed ;  evidently  he  had  been  discussing 
some  topic  of  unusual  biological  interest.  But 
the  Explorer  rose  and  greeted  us  with  a  courtesy 
suggesting  that,  though  a  scientist,  he  might  still 
be  capable  of  a  decent  Christian  gratitude  for 
our  rescue  of  the  night  before. 

In  the  daylight  I  remembered  with  amusement 
the  Captain's  insistence  that  he  was  pretty.  Had 
it  not  been  for  a  sun-tanned  skin  and  certain  firm 
lines  around  the  mouth  and  chin,  he  would  have 
come  perilously  near  to  just  that.  He  had  dark 
curling  hair,  bearing  every  evidence  of  recent 
smoothing,  over-sensitive  features,  and  gentle 
brown  eyes.  His  hands  were  small,  though 
roughened,  and  his  white  flannels  betrayed  a  ten- 
dency to  dapper  elegance.  To  suppose  him  the 
intrepid  explorer  was  absurd.  He  looked  like  a 
young  man  ready  to  punt  on  the  Thames,  who  had 
perhaps  been  drawn  aside  by  some  roisterous 
friends,  and  become  over-fatigued  and  a  bit  bat- 
tered up. 

"We  have  been  discussing, "  said  the  Professor 
ungraciously,  "the  Fly  Eiver  country,  and  I  find 
this  man  knows  more  about  it  than  any  one  living 
— that  jackass  of  a  Commissioner  included." 

"How  did  you  find  that  out?"  I  asked.  "For 
as  we  came  up  you  were  talking  at  the  same  time 


56  LETTEES  TO  A  DJTNN 

he  was."    But  before  he  could  "boom  out  a  reply 
I  asked  the  Explorer  if  he  were  better*. 

"Much  better,'*  he  said;  "I  shall  be  walking 
around  with  a  stick  to-morrow." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  give  you  any  assistance  you 
need," — this  from  the  Professor — "as  long  as 
you  have  any  difficulty  in  walking." 

"That  is  very  kind,"  said  the  Explorer,  while 
Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  looked  from  one  to  the  other 
in  amazement.  Could  they  be  tolerating  each 
other,  these  two? 

"Isn't  it  beastly  hot?"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale, 
who  had  seated  herself  beside  me,  and  with  whom 
this  grievance  was  always  a  fitting  theme  for  dis- 
course. "So  beastly  hot!  Of  course,  your  leg 
feels  bad  here.  Wait  till  you  get  to  England ;  it 
is  so  easy  to  feel  fit  in  England." 

"Inevitable  in  that  benign  climate,"  murmured 
the  Professor. 

"Well,  it  is, ".repeated  Miss  Hale-Hale,  "and, 
moreover,"  she  added  with  some  emphasis,  "I 
find  one 's  manners  improve  in  cold  climates  and 
one's  conduct  generally." 

''Have  you  really  noticed  in  yourself,  Miss 
Hale-Hale,"  cried  the  Professor,  * ' any  deteriora- 
tion of  conduct  owing  to  these  Jow  latitudes?" 

She  looked  at  him,  annoyed,  but  with  dignity. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  57 

"Sometimes  I  have,"  she  replied.  "I  find  it 
very  easy  to  do  extremely  foolish  things  when  I 
am  away  from  home." 

"Impossible,"  he  cried  hypocritically. 

"Oh,  but  I  do.  I  have  to  keep  watching  my- 
self." 

' '  That  must  be  trying.  But  what  sort  of  things 
are  you  accustomed  to  do?" 

nOh,  all  sorts  of  things." 

"But  you  had  better  tell  us,"  he  insisted 
maliciously,  "lest  we  imagine  them  to  be  more 
foolish  than  they  are.  ' ' 

"It  is  indifferent  to  me  what  you  imagine,"  said 
Miss  Hale-Hale  calmly;  "but  I  will  tell  you  one 
thing  as  an  example.  It  was  in  Colombo.  You 
see,  my  sister  when  I  left  home  had  given  me  two 
pounds  to  buy  myself  something  useful  with. 
Well,  every  day  I  had  to  pass  those  jewel  shops, 
where  a  man  with  a  bun  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
and  a  comb  like  a  little  girl,  would  run  out  and 
fall  on  the  street  at  my  feet.  Sometimes  he 
would  clasp  my  skirts  and  sometimes  he  would 
weep,  but  he  would  always  say,  'Oh,  beseechful 
lady,  come  and  buy!'  till  finally  I  could  not 
stand  it  any  longer.  So  one  day  I  took  my  two 
pounds  and  followed  him  in  and  bought  as  many 
as  I  could  of  those  bangles  and  necklets  and  nose- 


58  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

studs.  Then  that  night  some  people  I  knew 
were  giving  a  dance,  and  I  — well  — I  wore  them. ' ' 

"In  the  nose!"  I  cried. 

"In  the  hair,"  she  replied  stiffly,  looking  at  the 
Professor  as  if  defying  him  to  be  either  horrified 
or  amused. 

"But  there  was  surely  nothing  foolish  in  that," 
said  the  Explorer  kindly;  "we  are  sure  that  your 
adornments  were  very  effective." 

"Yes;  but,  you  see,  the  trouble  was  they  were 
native  things — Tamil,  I  believe.  It  seems  they 
were  even  the  kind  the  coolies'  women  wear.  I 
had  n  't  known  that. ' ' 

"But  were  n't  they  pretty?"  I  demanded. 

"Well,  I  thought  they  were  at  first;  but  when 
I  found  out  who  made  them  and  who  wore  them, 
I  saw,  of  course,  that  they  could  not  be. ' T 

"Oh!"  groaned  the  Professor  aloud. 

"Here,"  said  the  Explorer,  "is  indeed  one 
of  the  advantages  of  a  cold  climate,  or  at  least  of 
a  country  like  ours.  I  mean  the  advantages 
of  a  fixed  code  that  decides  on  the  sound  basis  of 
social  position  what  is  beautiful  and  what  is  not 
beautiful." 

"Well,  one  has  to  decide  somehow,"  said  Miss 
Hale-Hale,  and  indeed  we  could  none  of  us  deny 
that, 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  59 

We  passed  most  of  the  afternoon  between  siesta 
and  dressing  for  dinner  in  talking  and  argument. 
Miss  Hale-Hale  discovered,  by  the  very  simple 
method  of  asking  outright,  that  the  Explorer's 
family  was  indeed  of  Surrey  and  that  he  was  the 
nephew  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Chichester.  The 
Explorer  answered  all  questions  pleasantly,  and 
once  even  defended  us  against  the  irritability  of 
the  Professor,  to  whom  we  are  fast  becoming,  to 
my  great  amusement,  altogether  odious.  The 
Explorer  had  said  of  some  man  he  knew  that  he 
had  the  defects  of  his  qualities,  when  the  Pro- 
fessor chose  this  opportunity  to  state  loudly  that 
every  one  had  the  defects  of  his  (or  her)  qualities, 
as  witness  the  fact  that  so  many  estimable  people 
(at  least,  he  hoped  they  were  estimable)  were 
bores. 

"But  we  don't  so  much  mind  bores, "  said  the 
Explorer,  looking  at  him  with  the  kindest  possi- 
ble smile  that  said:  "Don't  apologize;  besides,  no 
one  doubts  that  you  are  also  estimable." 

And,  while  the  Professor  did  not  seem  to  like 
him  any  the  less  for  this,  Miss  Hale-Hale  Sinbad 
and  I  certainly  liked  him  the  more. 


60  LETTEES  TO  A  DJTNN 

Dobo. 

— November,  19 — -. 

There  was  a  guest  in  my  cabin  this  morning — 
the  most  impalpable  yet  gracious  visitant  imagin- 
able. Can  you  guess  who  or  what  it  was?  I  will 
tell  you,  Hinbad.  It  was  a  perfume.  It  came 
shortly  after  the  break  of  day,  overpowering 
gently  but  surely  the  stronger  odors  of  the  sea 
and  ship,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  inhaling 
its  subtle  compounds,  suggesting  somehow  the 
odor  from  brown  bodies  such  as  I  had  never  yet 
seen,  but  all  permeated  by  a  finer  odor  as  fresh  as 
the  smell  of  honey  in  the  bud.  I  was  almost  afraid 
to  look  from  my  port,  for  fear  the  island  without 
would  not  be  beautiful  and  so  shame  its  am- 
bassador. 

But  after  breakfast,  when  we  went  on  deck,  I 
saw  the  island  lying  directly  ahead,  low  on  the 
water,  and  green  with  dense  forests  to  its  margin 
of  white  coral  sand.  The  tiny  town  of  Dobo 
clustered  on  a  near  spit  of  land.  Between  us 
and  the  shores  lay  the  dismantled  black  hull  of 
an  old  sailing-vessel,  the  Fleur  de  Lys,  from  whose 
shadow  endless  swarms  of  gaudy  fish  glided  up- 
ward into  the  sunlit  water.  The  perfume  was 
stronger  and  even  more  enticing. 

To-day  the  Explorer  felt  well  enough  to  walk 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  61 

with  the  aid  of  a  stick  and  the  strong  right  arm 
of  the  Professor.  They,  with  Miss  Hale-Hale 
and  me,  went  on  shore  in  the  steam-launch.  The 
Captain  refused  to  go  with  us.  He  said  Dobo  had 
been  built  by  the  Dutch  " in  a  fit  of  absent  mind." 
It  was  no  place  for  him  or  any  other  rational 
being.  When  we  reached  the  pier  we  almost 
stumbled  over  three  little  Malay  boys  and  one 
tiny  Chinaman,  babies  all  of  them,  gambling  de- 
corously over  a  game  of  knuckle-bones  and  a  wand. 
They  squatted  on  their  haunches,  clad  only  in  red 
strings  around  the  waist,  and  so  absorbed  that 
they  had  no  eyes  for  us.  The  little  Chinese,  who 
had  won,  was  silently  sweeping  the  large  coins 
to  his  side,  while  the  little  Malays  sighed  and 
clicked  their  tongues  sadly — tse,  tse,  tse. 

We  crossed  a  stretch  of  blinding  sunlight,  and, 
lo  and  behold,  we  were  in  a  street  paved  with  coral 
dust  and  walled  in  by  small  peak-roofed  houses. 
It  was  sunny,  and  quite  deserted  except  for  an 
old  man  just  turning  the  far  corner,  who  sang 
nasally  and  with  the  most  intense  sentimentality. 
Most  of  the  awnings  of  the  shops  were  down,  but 
in  the  dimness  of  the  few  that  were  open  we 
caught  a  brightness  of  piled-up  stuffs,  of  strange 
fruits,  and  of  brass.  A  very  thin  Arab  came 
from  one  shop  and  showed  us  trays  of  discolored 


62  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

seed-pearls,  and  a  little  boy  offered  us  a  large 
stinking  durian,  the  meat  of  which  is  widely 
purported  to  be  ambrosial. 

The  blind  aspect  of  the  houses  and  the  emptiness 
of  Dobo's  main  street  puzzled  us  until  the  Ex- 
plorer remembered  that  at  this  time  of  the  year 
the  waters  of  Torres  Straits  are  clear  of  the  milky 
animalculae  that  at  other  times  prevent  the  divers 
from  working.  The  fleet,  therefore,  was  out. 
The  raison  d'etre  of  Dobo,  as  even  at  the  time 
iWallace  wrote  of  it,  is  pearls,  and  when  the  fleet 
is  out  Dobo  sleeps.  When  the  fleet  returns, 
buyers,  cleaners,  pearl-piercers,  priests,  mounte- 
banks, and  loose  women  come  from  all  over  the 
archipelago,  and  pandemonium  reigns. 

Dobo  is  small.  We  passed  the  house  of  the 
Dutch  kontroleur,  with  an  imposing  sentry-box  in 
which  no  sentry  is,  into  a  narrow  lane  of  white 
dust,  a  mere  path  between  bamboo  fences,  behind 
which  rose  the  great  palm  and  kanari  trees,  over- 
shadowing the  tiny  thatched  houses  on  their  tall 
stilts.  Each  house  was  marked  with  the  name  of 
the  owner,  a  pearl-diver  generally,  and  the  name 
of  his  native  island — thus:  "Roemah  Serai  [the 
House  of  Serai],  Banda,  Kampong  58. " 

Here  there  were  occasional  signs  of  life,  where 
the  drowsy  eyes  of  women  looked  at  us  from  the 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  63 

lattices,  or  a  girl  combed  the  dark  hair  of  some 
friend  in  her  doorway,  and  red  parrots  on  rings 
squawked  not  unamiably  at  us  as  we  passed. 
Apropos  of  these  parrots,  Hinbad,  know  that  the 
Malay  uses  them  as  love-messengers.  He,  for 
instance,  teaches  his  parrot  all  the  pretty  sayings 
intended  for  the  " fruit  of  his  heart,"  afterward 
presenting  it  to  her,  and  she  is  thus  able  to  hear 
over  and  over  again  the  words  of  her  beloved, 
being  all  the  time  agreeably  assured  of  the  im- 
mense labor  it  must  have  cost  him.  True,  these 
messages,  repeated  too  oft  or  at  inappropriate 
times,  might  prove  irritating;  but  then,  every 
system  has  its  disadvantages. 

As  we  walked  among  the  slumbering  gardens 
the  perfume  of  the  morning  was  still  with  us,  and 
it  came  to  me  suddenly  that  it  combines  the  odors 
of  the  town  and  jungle,  of  humanity  and  nature, 
two  powers  that  in  these  countries  constantly  en- 
croach and  wage  hand-to-hand  war  upon  each 
other,  so  that  the  perfume  was  in  fact  the  very 
essence  of  Malaya.  The  sea  was  whispering  just 
back  of  the  gardens,  and  soon  we  came  on  a  path 
leading  along  its  margin.  At  a  clearing  in  the 
mangroves  on  a  slight  rise  of  land  stood  some 
Chinese  gravestones.  We  sat  just  below  them 
in  the  sand,  and  looked  across  the  beach  to  that 


64  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

crystalline  water  world  almost  level  with  our 
eyes,  whose  luminous  horizon  edge  seemed  at 
an  immense,  incalculable  distance  from  us.  The 
only  stir  was  the  tiny  jets  of  water  announcing 
nights  of  flying-fish.  The  remoteness  of  Dobo,  the 
light,  the  silence,  made  it  seem  a  place  created 
apart.  It  did  not  seem  possible  that  man  ever  in- 
habited it. 

Yet  the  Professor  chose  this  spot  suddenly  to 
sit  bolt-upright  in  the  sand  and  cry,  *  '  Great  Scott, 
I  have  an  idea ! ' ' 

"What  is  it!" 

"Volcanos!"  he  replied.  "And  I  never 
thought  of  them  before.  The  volcanos  of  Java! 
I  propose  spending  most  of  the  time  there  at  the 
Bromo,  the  sand-sea.  You  know  all  about  it,  of 
course.  Besides  that,  it  is  a  great  altitude  and 
there  is  a  sanatorium  there  with  baths — the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  your  leg,  Endicott.  Now, 
what  do  you  say  to  the  trip?  It  's  the  most 
worth-while  thing  in  Java,  where  it  seems  we 
have  all  got  to  spend  five  days,  come  what  may. ' ' 

"It  sounds  interesting,"  the  Explorer  admit- 
ted ;  "but  what  would  the  ladies  say  to  taking  it ? " 

The  Professor  hastened  to  explain:  "But  it  is 
a  very  hard  trip,  Endicott,  absolutely  unfit  for 
ladies;  even  the  guide-book  says  so.  It  is  cold 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  65 

and  very  rough  walking — have  to  ride  mules  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"But  you  are  asking  me  to  make  it  with  a 
game  leg,"  reminded  the  explorer. 

"True,"  assented  the  Professor. 

"How  much  will  it  cost?"  I  asked. 

He  began  to  draw  figures  in  the  sand  with  his 
finger. 

"About  fifty  dollars  all  told,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Gracious!"  I  exclaimed,  trying  to  make  calcu- 
lations behind  my  back  with  my  fingers;  while 
Miss  Hale-Hale,  murmuring  * '  Ten  pounds, ' '  gazed 
dreamily  out  over  the  sea. 

"I  will  go  with  you,"  she  said  after  a  brief 
pause;  "I  have  always  rather  wanted  to  see  a 
volcano.  I  suppose  it  is  really  a  very  interest- 
ing sight. ' ' 

"Very,"  said  the  Professor  dryly;  "very, 
very. ' y 

"But  will  you  be  coming?"  the  Explorer  asked 
me. 

I  thought  wildly  of  the  money,  and  said  it  over 
and  over  to  myself  in  English  and  American 
terms :  "Fifty  dollars — ten  pounds — ten  pounds — 
fifty  dollars."  Then  I  gulped  down  some,  at 
least,  of  my  hesitation. 

"I  think  I '11  go,  "I  said. 


66  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Well,  and  what  about  you,  Endicott?"  asked 
the  Professor,  to  whom  this  was  the  only  im- 
portant matter.  * l  Are  you  coming  ! ' ' 

The  Explorer  looked  at  the  ground  and  smiled. 

"For  the  present,  that  will  have  to  depend," 
he  said. 

"You  mean  on  your  leg?"  said  the  Professor. 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  replied,  still  smiling. 

Just  then  a  great  blazoned  butterfly  flew  reck- 
lessly before  the  Professor's  face,  and  with  a 
shout  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and,  using  his  topee 
as  a  net,  ran  after  it.  It  fluttered  off  among  the 
mangrove  shadows,  and  Miss  Hale-Hale,  startled 
by  the  pursuit,  rose  and  followed  him.  We 
heard  their  voices  moving  around,  accompanied 
by  the  crackling  of  twigs  and  branches. 

The  Explorer  settled  back  comfortably  against 
a  little  mound  of  warm  sand. 

"It  's  a  curious  thing,"  he  said,  "the  peace 
there  is  in  the  very  air  of  these  coral  islands  as 
compared  with  those  of  volcanic  origin  or  islands 
separated  from  the  mainland.  Perhaps  I  imagine 
it,  but  there  has  always  seemed  a  certain  fitness 
about  a  coral  island.  It  may  be  because  it  was 
generated  by  the  sea  itself,  cradled  in  it,  and 
nourished  by  it.  It  seems  to  belong  more  entirely 
to  the  sea,  to  be  in  more  complete  harmony  with 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  67 

it.  At  least,  I  feel  something  of  peace  here  that 
escapes  me  everywhere  else."  He  stretched  his 
leg  luxuriously  and  leaned  back  on  his  elbow. 
"It  would  be  very  easy  to  stay  on  here  forever — 
to  do  nothing  at  all  for  the  rest  of  one's  life; 
wouldn't  it?" 

"It  would  for  me;  at  least,  I  feel  so  now.  But 
I  am  surprised  at  you.  This  does  not  sound  like 
a  scientist's  wish." 

"Oh,  I  'm  not  a  scientist  really,"  he  said.  "I 
try  hard  to  be,  but  at  heart  I  am  the  best  dilet- 
tante in  the  world.  I  was  lamped  in  cotton-wool 
most  of  my  life,  and  I  liked  *  too,  worse  luck." 

"What  made  you  break  from  it?" 

"Some  gadfly  of  conscience,  I  suppose." 

"It  must  have  been  a  particularly  strong  one." 

"It  was." 

"How  did  you  accomplish  the  breaking,  if  one 
may  ask?" 

' '  Quite  suddenly,  as  one  rolls  out  of  a  warm  bed 
on  a  cold  morning.  It  is  the  only  way  it  can  be 
done.  I  'd  tried  all  the  more  deliberate  ways. 
They  don't  work  at  all.  For  instance,  I  dawdled 
through  endless  courses  in  the  natural  sciences 
and  historical  departments  at  Oxford ;  but  it  was 
not  till  I  abruptly  demanded  that  Bauer  take  me 
as  a  sort  of  super-cargo  on  one  of  his  expeditions 


68  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

to  the  Gold  Coast  that  I  really  began  to  amount  to 
anything. ' ' 

"That  is  strange.  I  generally  distrust  the 
more  violent  methods. " 

"You  are  wrong.  It  is  that  unqualified  'Get 
thee  behind  me,  Satan,'  that  really  counts/' 

"I  must  try  it  sometime,"  I  said.  I  could  not 
help  being  amused  at  the  thought  of  my  own  pre- 
cipitate departure  from  Sydney. 

"You  are  smiling,"  he  said,  looking  up  at  -me. 
"Of  course,  you  already  know  vastly  more  about 
this  than  I  do,  and  I  believe,  too,  you  agree  with 
me." 

I  did  not  deny  it,  and  he  became  all  at  once  en- 
thusiastic. 

"Now,  take  friends,"  he  insisted.  "Don't  you 
find  that  a  feeling  of  sympathy  and  attraction  for 
some  person  that  overtakes  one  almost  at  first 
sight  is  generally  as  valid  and  as  enduring  as 
these  hesitating,  I-don't-know-if-I-do-like-him-or- 
not,  I '11-have-to-test-him  sort  of  friendships!" 

The  Explorer  looked  up  at  me  with  the  most  en- 
gaging smile  imaginable.  The  look  of  pain  was 
almost  gone  from  his  face,  and  he  was  flushed 
with  the  ardor  of  explaining  just  what  he  thought. 

"Don't     you     prefer     that?"    he     insisted. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJTNN  69 

Would  nrt  you  take  such  a  sudden  attraction  seri- 
ously I" 

"You  are  perhaps  thinking,"  I  asked,  "of  the 
Professor's  unexpected  fondness  for  you!" 

His  face  fell.  "I  was  not  thinking  of  that  at 
all,"  he  said. 

But  just  then  the  Professor  and  Miss  Hale-Hale 
returned  with  the  butterfly ;  he  so  triumphant  over 
its  capture  that,  momentarily  forgetful  of  her  in- 
ferior intellect,  he  was  explaining  it  to  her. 

We  went  back  to  the  ship,  and  at  night  left  Dobo. 
A  few  hours  out,  the  moon  rose  behind  cloud- 
banks.  Then  it  broke  through,,  burnishing  a 
whole  sheet  of  sea,  against  whose  silver  were 
suddenly  .revealed  the  dark  outlines,  seemingly 
impalpable  as  shadows,  of  a  ghostly  horde  of 
luggers.  For  several  minutes  they  hovered  there, 
caught  in  the  light,  when  a  cloud  crossed  the 
moon  again  and  blotted  them  out.  It  was  the 
pearling  fleet  of  Dobo. 

After  I  had  come  downstairs  and  got  into  bed, 
you,  Hinbad,  appeared  before  me  in  the  form  of  a 
djinn  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  my  bunk. 

"You  are,  it  appears,  enjoying  yourself 
hugely,"  you  said. 

"Do  you  object  to  that,  Hinbad?"  I  asked. 


70  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Why  should  I?" — you  raised  your  eyebrows, 
— •" provided  you  do  not  lose  sight  of  the  difficul- 
ties and  responsibilities  that  await  you  at  the  end 
of  this  trip.  It  is  a  serious  thing  you  have 
undertaken,  no  mere  pleasure  jaunt." 

"You  are  doing  your  best  to  prevent  it  from 
becoming  that,"  I  said;  "but  tell  me  just  what 
would  you  advise  me  to  be  doing  now  in  prepara- 
tion for  my  arrival  at  Singapore?" 

"This  volcano,"  you  began.  "I  should  not 
advise  you  to  go  there.  It  is  bound  to  be  exces- 
sively fatiguing,  perhaps  dangerous.  Then,  there 
is  the  question  of  money ;  do  you  really  think  you 
have  enough?" 

"I  have  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  dollars," 
I  said  proudly.  "I  wear  it  in  a  chamois  bag 
around  my  neck,  together  with  a  bit  of  pink  ribbon 
that  has  for  me  a  certain  sentimental  connection, 
and  a  piece  of  the  hair  shirt  of  the  Blessed  Made- 
leine Sophie  Barat,  which  was  given  to  me  by 
Mother  Jacques  at  the  convent.'* 

"May  I  ask  the  reason  of  the  hair  shirt?"  you 
demanded  politely. 

"That  is  for  luck." 

"Of  course.  Altogether  a  very  touching  col- 
lection, this.  And  let  me  assure  you  that  you 


71 

may  have  need  of  the  power  of  all  three  of  these 
talismanic  objects  before  you  are  through,  not  to 
speak  of  my  own  unappreciated  but  not  unvalu- 
able  assistance." 

"You   anticipate   some  misfortune,   Hinbad?" 

"I  always  anticipate  misfortune,  while  at  the 
same  time  hoping  for  the  best." 

"That  must  be  very  difficult  to  accomplish  si- 
multaneously, ' '  I  murmured. 

"Sinbad,"  you  said  with  severity,  "you  have 
a  way  of  side-tracking  me  from  the  main  issue, 
which  in  this  case  was — was — dear  me,  now  what 
can  it  have  been  I  came  to  'Say?  Something 
about  this  explorer  person,  I  am  sure.  But  I  feel 
a  vagueness  stealing  over  me.  It  must  be  that 
I  am  needed  at  the  other  side  of  the  globe,  where 
I — and  you  too,  for  that  matter — more  properly 
belong.  I  really  must  be  going.  You  '11  excuse 
me.  So  sorry.  Another  time." 

But  before  you  could  quite  dissolve  into  a  sort 
of  blue  vapor  I  was  asleep.  SINBAD. 


Macassar. 
— November,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 
First  thing  this  morning,  on  the  deck  newly 


72  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

washed,  I  met  the  Captain  standing  by  the  rail. 

"She  looks  happy  this  morning,"  he  said,  "so 
that  I  also  am  happy  when  I  see  her — " 

"I  am,"  I  replied;  "or,  rather,  I  am  pleased 
with  myself.  Can  you  guess  why!" 

"Many  reasons  I  can  guess  why  she  shall  be 
pleased  with  herself.  So  many  I  can  not  tell 
them." 

"But  it  is  because  to-day  is  my  birthday,"  I 
told  him.  "I  am  twenty-three  years  old.  Just 
think  of  that!" 

"•So!"  he  exclaimed,  smiling.  "It  is  a  long 
time  to  live  when  she  lives  it  well. ' ' 

"But  I  have  lived  it  well — fairly  well, 
that  is — at  least,  I  Ve  done  nothing  dread- 
ful." 

"So?"  he  repeated,  his  small  blue  eyes  twink- 
ling. "She  has  never  been  yet  in  prison!" 

"Of  course  not." 

He  pretended  great  surprise. 

"What  is  this?  In  her  country  they  do  not  put 
her  in  prison  when  she  steals  away  the  hearts 
from  people?" 

"Captain!"  I  cried;  and  he,  bending  forward, 
said  to  me  mysteriously : 

"Then  I  go  tell  them  to  fix  a  tart  for  her — a 
real  tart  for  her  birthday." 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  73 

And  he  departed  toward  the  odors  of  the 
kitchens. 

But  this  word  ''tart/'  Hinbad,  is  misleading. 
At  dinner,  when  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  prom- 
ise, it  appeared,  carried  by  the  chief  steward 
surrounded  by  a  guard  of  admiring  "boys,"  and 
was  set  directly  before  my  place.  It  must  have 
stood  three  feet  tall,  from  the  chocolate  cake 
beneath,  from  which  rose  a  pedestal  of  sugar 
dolphins  supporting,  caryatid  fashion  (except 
that  they  stood  on  their  heads),  a  candied  basket 
full  of  preserved  fruits  and  marrons  glaces, 
to  the  flag  of  something  resembling  peanut 
brittle  which  waved  stiffly  above,  and  where  was 
traced  in  white  sugar,  Hulde  van  der  jorige! 

The  Captain  rose  and  said  it  conveyed  his 
appreciation  of  my  so  long  and  so  honorable  life, 
and  he  drank  my  health,  with  every  one  standing. 

Since  noon  to-day  we  have  had  to  starboard  a 
lofty  coast-line,  green  under  the  afternoon  sun, 
and  with  that  fantasy  of  outline  in  its  heights  and 
hollows  that  is  found  only  in  volcanic  mountains. 
One  great  cone  sloped  out  grandly  from  the  rest, 
the  Lompo  Batang,  ten  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea.  At  sunset  we  saw  in  the  glow  of  the  west 
low-lying  coral  islands,  the  southern  fringes  of 


74  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  Spermonde  Archipelago,  but  it  was  dark 
when  we  reached  Macassar. 

After  dinner  I  walked  along  the  deck,  looking 
down  on  the  quay  to  the  many  piles  of  great  log« 
which  some  passer-by  told  me  were  ebony.  The 
town  behind  the  flickering  lights  and  warehouses 
of  the  quay  was  hidden  in  the  dusk  of  a  cloudy, 
moonless  night,  but  there  arose  from  it  that  inde- 
scribable humming  sound  which  hangs  like  invis- 
ible fumes  over  any  large  city.  So  I  judged 
Macassar  to  be  a  considerable  place,  and  indeed 
it  is  a  great  trading  point,  besides  being  the  capi- 
tal of  the  Celebes  Islands. 

The  Explorer  and  I  decided  to  go  on  shore, 
though  we  could  persuade  no  one  else  to  do  so 
by  night.  Because  of  his  leg  we  had  to  go  slowly 
and  stop  often,  which  for  my  part  I  am  always 
well  content  to  do.  We  passed  among  the  ebony 
logs  into  a  dark  street  at  whose  entrance  some 
men  sat  on  the  ground,  offering,  by  the  smolder  of 
their  little  lamps,  strange  fruits  and  heathen 
cookery.  We  passed  them  into  the  darkness, 
but  as  our  eyes  grew  accustomed  we  began  to  see 
on  each  side  decayed  and  ancient  Dutch  houses, 
with  wooden  pillars  supporting  galleries,  and  fan- 
lights over  doors  lighted  dimly  from  within.  Ap- 
parently they  had  fallen  into  native  hands,  for 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  75 

through  one  open  door  we  saw  in  a  haze  of  blue 
smoke  three  Chinamen  playing  cards  around  a 
table,  and  farther  on  a  window  opened  above  our 
heads  and  a  Malay  woman's  head  appeared  out- 
lined against  a  faint  light.  She  called  softly  to 
some  one  in  the  street  below. 

Macassar  was  more  to  us  for  what  it  concealed 
that  night  than  for  anything  it  revealed  to  us, 
for  it  was  wrapped  in  obscurity  and  thick  with 
mystery.  In  the  narrow  streets  we  seemed 
strangely  near  to  the  interior  of  the  houses. 
Through  walls  and  windows  muffled  laughter 
reached  us ;  the  sliding  sound  of  silk  against  silk ; 
we  heard  a  chair  pushed  backward,  and  the 
despondent  sigh  of  a  person  who  waits  alone. 
We  saw  through  windows  a  candle  blown  suddenly 
out,  and  the  strange  shadows  cast  by  a  hidden 
lamp  against  a  ceiling.  People  passed  us  noise- 
lessly in  thick  dusk,  sometimes  so  near  that  we 
saw  the  shine  of  their  eyes. 

Presently  a  stringed  instrument  began  to 
twang  in  the  recesses  of  a  house,  accompanied  by 
the  shuffle  of  feet  and  hands  beaten  to  time. 
Some  men  stood  about  a  lighted  booth,,  quarrel- 
ing gutturally.  They  wore  red  turbans,  and 
sarongs  drawn  high  above  the  knees.  Something 
in  their  sturdy  legs  and  the  truoulence  of  their 


76  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

attitude  made  me  guess  them  to  be  countrymen 
who  believed,  probably  with  reason,  that  some 
one  was  cheating  them. 

Despite  the  smell  of  fruit  rotting  in  the  hot 
night  air,  there  was  no  jungle  odor  to  Macassar, 
and  the  extent  of  the  town  was  brought  suddenly 
to  mind.  A  wooden  drum  sounded  near  us,  and 
immediately  an  invisible  watchman  called  the 
hour.  He  was  answered  by  more  voices  and 
drums  from  all  sides  of  us,  near  and  far,  which 
produced  a  diffusion  of  sound,  as  if  it  rose  above 
a  vast  area.  It  even  seemed  that  beyond  the 
voices  heard  most  faintly  there  must  be  others 
answering,  which  we  could  not  hear  at  all. 
There  was  a  strange  beauty  about  them,  varying 
as  they  did  in  cadence  and  volume,  so  detached  in 
the  darkness  that  they  seemed  as  impersonal  as 
the  multitudinous  church  chimes  of  Brussels  or 
of  Rome. 

A  moment  later  we  came  on  the  nearest  of  the 
watchmen,  squatting  unconcernedly  beneath  a 
gigantic  tamarind  from  whose  branches  his  drum 
was  suspended.  The  tamarind  was  the  first  of 
an  avenue  behind  which  were  open  spaces  and  the 
low  white  houses  of  the  Dutch.  At  the  end,  what 
seemed  to  our  blinded  eyes  a  dazzling  radiance 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  77 

streamed  out  from  the  verandas  of  the  Oranje 
Hotel. 

As  we  neared  it  I  saw  several  Dutchmen  in 
white  suits  sipping  iced  drinks  at  little  tables. 
In  the  lights  I  noticed  a  look  of  fatigue  on  the 
Explorer's  face,  so  I  suggested  that  we  rest  there 
a  moment  before  going  back.  We  chose  a  table, 
where  we  were  eyed  with  coldly  hostile  glances, 
being  immediately  recognized  as  interlopers 
from  the  mail-boat.  For  some  reason  I  am  un- 
able to  fathom,  the  popularity  of  supposed  tour- 
ists in  -these  parts  does  not  extend  beyond  the 
proprietor  of  the  hotel  and  the  carriage-driver. 

Just  then,  however,  I  cared  little  for  the  hostil- 
ity of  the  Dutch  colonial.  The  spell  of  Macassar 
was  still  heavy  about  me. 

"I  have  the  most  absurd  feeling  of  having  come 
in  intimate  touch  with  these  people,"  I  said  to  the 
Explorer.  "All  those  sighs  and  laughs,  those 
dance-steps  we  heard,  make  me  feel  that  we  have 
been  walking  through  their  rooms  instead 
of  through  their  streets." 

"Yes,  it  is  good  to  be  in  a  town  once  more," 
the  Explorer  exclaimed.  "You  don't  know  how 
good!  I  like  towns.  I  like  people,  lots  of 
people,  living  close  together.  I  like  London 


78  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

and  Florence  and  Boston  and — Macassar.  Most 
great  things  are  done  in  towns  or  by  townspeople. 
Of  course  they  are !  We  are  meant  to  live  in  con- 
tact, to  assimilate  from  one  another,  to  circulate 
around  one  another.  Isolation  is  stagnation. 
For  instance,  look  at  me.  Six  months  spent  in 
Papua,  and  I've  come  out  half  dead/' 

He  made  this  statement  unemotionally,  as  if 
about  some  one  else. 

"But  you  are  reviving,"  I  reassured  him. 

"I  am.  It  is  people  who  are  reviving  me. 
"Why,  the  ship  itself  for  the  moment  is  a  miniature 
town.  The  Captain  as  the  chief  executive  repre- 
sents law,  authority,  justice;  the  stewards  and 
cooks  are — well,  the  artisan  class;  the  Professor 
we  might  call  science  or  education;  and  we  have 
you — certainly  it  is  hard  to  classify  you,  but  why 
not  call  you  art,  all  that  makes  life  gracious — " 

He  was  holding  his  lemon  squash  poised  in  the 
air,  but  I  did  not  wait  to  learn  my  further 
qualifications  as  the  symbol  of  art,  saying  hur- 
riedly: "Really,  I  had  never  thought  of  us  in 
just  that  light;  but  then,  I  have  never  lived  in 
Papua  for  six  months." 

This  was  not  brilliant,  certainly,  yet  his  reply 
was  even  less  so.  Putting  down  his  glass 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  79 

abruptly,  he  exclaimed:  "By  Jove,  no  man  was 
ever  meant  to  live  alone ! ' ' 

"Yes,  I  believe  the  Bible  says  something  simi- 
lar; it  is  generally  believed  to  be  an  authority, 
too." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  I  continued:  "You  say 
now  you  like  Macassar ;  a  few  days  ago  you  were 
all  for  solitary  islands  like  Dobo." 

He  looked  at  me  a  moment,  and  there  was  a 
disconcerting  pause  before  he  said  slowly: 
"But  then,  you  were  in  Dobo."  So  I  judged  it 
best  to  return  to  the  ship. 

We  found  the  Professor  hanging  over  the  rail 
and  peering  anxiously  out  for  signs  of  our 
return. 

"You  will  injure  that  foot,"  he  cried,  much 
exasperated,  as  we  came  painfully  up  the  gang- 
way, * l  stumbling  about  in  the  unclean  dark  of  the 
native  warrens.  And  then  you  will  miss  the  vol- 
cano, which  is  the  really  important  thing." 

"I  never  felt  so  refreshed  in  my  life,"  the  Ex- 
plorer assured  him,  smiling  inscrutably.  Never- 
theless he  excused  himself  at  once  and  went 
below.  The  Professor  found  me  a  poor  substi- 
tute. 

"Doesn't  this  harbor  look  nice  and  cool?"    I 


80  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

said,  trying  to  make  conversation.  "I  should 
like  to  swim  in  it." 

""Should  youf"  he  snorted;  then,  abruptly  ami- 
able: "Then  why  don't  you?;" 

"Because  I  can't  swim." 

"Nonsense — every  one  can  swim.  Man  is  am- 
phibious, if  he  only  realized  it." 

"Oh,  you  can  not  lure  me  to  self-destruction  in 
this  bold  manner,"  I  replied.  "Besides,  if  I  did 
jump  in,  you  would  jump  in  after  me." 

"Would  I?"  he  asked,  smiling.  "What  makes 
you  think  so?" 

"Because  you  are  human,  if  you  only  realized 
it." 

He  bowed  mockingly  with  his  hand  on  his  heart, 
and,  Miss  Hale-Hale  just  then  coming  up,  we  fell 
to  talking  of  the  volcano. 

The  next  morning  I  jumped  up  the  instant  I 
awoke,  a  rare  thing  for  me  to  do,  and  ran  to  the 
port.  The  water  under  the  fiery  banners  of  sun- 
rise was  as  still  and  reflective  as  a  mirror,  except 
for  delicate  triangular  tracings  from  the  passing 
of  innumerable  proas  and  other  small  craft.  A 
lighthouse  on  shore  shone  out  like  a  useless  candle 
in  the  growing  light.  The  whole  harbor  was  wak- 
ing up.  I  heard  the  curious  pulsing  sounds, 


LETTEKS  TO  A  DJINN  81 

rhythmic  as  the  beating  of  arteries,  of  the  small 
drums  announcing  the  departure  of  fishing-smacks 
and  merchant  proas.  Close  beside  us  a  fisherman 
on  a  bamboo  platform  lay  staring  down  into  the 
transparent  water. 

I  could  not  see  the  shore-line  till  I  went  on 
deck;  and  there  once  again  the  great  length  of 
warehouses  verging  into  the  native  kampongs 
close  to  the  shore  among  the  palm  groves  amazed 
me.  The  quay  was  already  swarming  with  coolies, 
who  loaded  the  ebony  logs  on  a  boat  bound  for 
Singapore  and  thence  to  Europe. 

After  breakfast  Miss  Hale-Hale,  the  Professor, 
the  Explorer,  and  I  walked  across  the  quay  to  the 
Chinese  pasar,  where  we  secured  a  gharry  to  take 
us  over  Macassar.  We  chose  the  gharry  for  the 
sake  of  the  driver,  who  despite  his  red-checked 
sarong  and  a  haughty  cast  of  countenance,,  wore 
a  little  boy's  round  sailor  hat  with  a  ribbon  hang- 
ing over  the  brim. 

The  street  we  had  passed  down  the  night  be- 
fore was  strangely  colorful  by  day.  The  old 
Dutch  houses,  with  their  green  shutters  and 
window-sashes,  had  ripened  under  the  sun  to 
warm  ivory  tints  and  gone  through  a  process  of 
gradual  harmonious  degradation  by  the  usage  of 
the  natives  who  had  taken  them  over.  These  had 


82  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

littered  the  galleries  with  their  bamboo  bird-cages, 
potted  plants,  and  lanterns,  and  filled  the  stately 
doorways  with  booths  displaying  mother-of-pearl, 
tortoise-shells,  gold  filigree,  and  bird-skins.  Still 
others  had  been  converted  into  warehouses  for  the 
temporary  storage  of  odorous  cloves  and  nutmeg, 
copra,  gutta-percha  wax,  dammar-resin,  sandal- 
wood,  and  rattan,  the  lavish  inexhaustible  pro- 
ducts of  the  great  tropic  forest. 

Never  was  there  such  a  coming  and  going  as 
in  these  streets  of  Macassar.  Tides  of  people 
flowed  up  and  down  them:  Chinese,  of  course, 
for  they  are  the  Jews  of  the  Far  East,  a  few 
Arabs,  a  few  Dutchmen,  many  indeterminate 
half-castes,  but  in  predominance  always  the  Ma- 
lay, short,  supple,  burnished  of  skin,  clad  in  red- 
checked  sarong  drawn  well  above  the  knees,  with 
high-crested  turban,  and  indeed,  seen  by  daylight, 
something  of  the  proud  carriage  for  which  the 
Macassarese  is  famous.  For  the  Macassarese  is 
a  poor  tiller  of  the  soil  and  a  poor  servant  to  alien 
peoples,  but  he  is  a  great  trader,  a  great  gambler, 
something  of  a  pirate,  and  especially  addicted  to 
the  cruel  vice  of  amok-running. 

So  many  alien  voices  with  inflections  so  un- 
familiar was  curiously  exciting  to  my  ears.  And 
how  many  voices  were  lifted  in  Macassar  that 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  83 

day.  how  many  bargains  were  made,  how  many 
quarrels  begun,  how  much  calling  there  was  from 
window  to  window!  I  do  not  pretend  it  was  un- 
usual, but  on  me  it  had  the  effect  of  a  special 
stage  spectacle  where,  after  the  stillness  of  the 
entrance,  the  curtain  suddenly  -rises  on  a  tumul- 
tuous scene  upon  which  it  will  soon  drop  again 
and  quiet  be  restored. 

We  rode  along  considerable  distances,  and 
at  the  end  of  each  street  saw  more  streets,  more 
people  moving  back  and  forth  in  the  dust,  more 
buying  and  selling.  I  lost  myself  presently  in 
details — gold  filigree  earrings  in  that  corner 
booth,  the  plump  baby  clad  only  in  a  silver  fig-leaf 
who  toddled  out  on  a  balcony,  or  again  we  stood 
up  to  see  more  adequately  the  Chinese  funeral 
procession  passing  with  its  gongs  and  clamor 
across  the  end  of  the  nearest  alleyway. 

While  I  grew  giddy  with  much  turning  from 
side  to  side,  our  old  enemy,  the  sun,  beating 
strongly  upon  us,  became  (as  his  custom  is)  quite 
suddenly  unendurable.  Even  the  crowds  about 
us  began  to  ebb  perceptibly;  people  sought  the 
shade  of  booths,  and  shutters  clicked  to.  We  were 
obliged  to  seek  once  more  the  banal  verandas  of 
the  Oranje  Hotel,  there  to  wait  till  tiffin. 

Afterward,  despite  heat  and  despite  custom,  we 


84  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

again  took  to  the  gharry  and  plunged  into  the 
great  labyrinth  of  Macassar.  This  time  our 
driver  took  us  among  the  kampongs  of  the  Macas- 
sarese.  Here,  under  gigantic  tamarinds,  ban- 
yans, palms,  and  kanaris,  among  overgrown  lanes 
and  gardens,  rose  the  little  bamboo  houses, 
peaked  of  roof,  latticed,  braided,  and  cunningly 
woven.  In  a  gloom  as  green  as  undersea  twi- 
light we  saw,  on  the  steps  and  platforms,  Malay 
women  combing  their  long  hair  and  washing  their 
babies,  or  weaving  ion  hand-looms  sarongs  of 
checked  pattern.  We  saw  a  wayside  cock-fight; 
we  watched  children  play  at  knuckle-bones;  we 
passed  litle  restaurateurs  in  peaked  hats,  who  car- 
ried their  smoking  kitchens  swung  from  their 
sshoulders. 

"Let  us  go  out  into  the  country,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor suddenly. 

We  agreed,  whereupon  he  began  a  lengthy  con- 
versation with  our  driver,  in  which  we  aided  and 
directed.  The  driver  spoke  no  pidgin-English, 
and  used  a  brand  of  Malay  with  which  all  had  dif- 
ficulty save  the  Professor,  who  presently  an- 
nounced that  he  and  the  driver  had  come  to  a  per- 
fect understanding  and  that  the  driver  would  now 
take  us  to  the  house  of  a  king  who  lived  "a  long 
way  off/' 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  85 

"Pigi  roemah  Rajah?"  he  inquired,  to  show 
us  the  extent  of  their  understanding. 

"Sa  toean,"  replied  the  driver  promptly. 

"Ah,  madjoeJ"  exclaimed  the  Professor  with 
great  satisfaction,  and  with  a  crack  of  the  whip 
we  were  off. 

We  passed  through  suburbs  where  gray  buf- 
falos  wallowed  in  roadside  streams,  among  over- 
grown gardens  and  banana  groves,  along  grassy 
roads  into  the  open  country.  The  afternoon  sun 
was  fiercely  hot,  and  the  whole  green  countryside 
wavered,  shifted,  and  fairly  eluded  us  in  the  heat. 
The  way  was  indeed  long,  so  that  finally  the  Pro- 
fessor, at  our  instigation,  began  to  press  the 
driver  for  more  definite  information  about  the 
king. 

"Mana  Rajah?  [Where  is  the  king?]  "  he  asked. 
The  driver  exclaimed  in  some  surprise  at  the 
simplicity  of  the  question,  and  began  to  count 
rajahs  off  on  his  fingers. 

"Rajah  Bom,  Rajah  Gowa,"  and  so  on.  There 
were  many  kings  in  the  neighborhood  of  Macassar. 
It  is  a  great  city.  Which  one  did  we  by  chance 
refer  to? 

Why,  the  one  he  was  taking  us  to,  of  course. 
But  before  we  could  make  this  clear  he  said  in  a 
loud  voice:  "Rajah  Boni  dead." 


86  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

"Too  bad,"  said  the  Explorer. 

Then  he  added  even  louder:  "Rajah  Gowa — 
dead." 

"And  our  rajah?"  inquired  the  Explorer. 

"Very  sick,"  said  the  driver. 

"I  feared  so,"  the  Explorer  replied;  "it  seems 
a  beastly  unhealthy  climate  for  rajahs." 

The  driver  then  began  to  sing  unconcernedly, 
as  if  the  death  of  rajahs  meant  little  to  him. 
But  as  he  whipped  up  the  ponies  and  seemed  to 
know  where  he  was  going,  we  let  him  be.  Later 
on  he  abruptly  turned  into  a  sort  of  by-track,  ex- 
plaining that  this  was  a  shorter  way.  It  may 
have  been,  but  it  was  certainly  a  more  unused  one, 
only  a  path  among  canes  and  low-growing  trees. 
Long  vines  whipped  under  the  hood  across  our 
faces. 

"I  say,"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale,  "do  you  ever 
carry  a  revolver  or  some  such  weapon?" 

"I  do  not,"  said  the  Professor.  "I  'd  blow  my 
own  head  off. ' ' 

"And  you?"  she  inquired  of  the  Explorer. 

"I  carry  a  fountain-pen,"  he  replied  reassur- 
ingly. 

Just  then  we  came  out  most  unexpectedly  on  a 
grassy  clearing,  where  at  the  entrance  to  some 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  87 

unkempt  gardens  rose  a  sugary  white  building 
like  a  little  casino. 

"Mosque,"  said  the  driver,  pointing  with  his 
whip. 

"The  rajah's  mosque f" 

"Sa  tuan."  Be  jumped  off  the  box  and  signed 
to  us  to  get  out.  His  manner  had  become  a  bit 
truculent,  it  seemed  to  me — that  is,  for  a  coach- 
man. 

Just  then  two  men  came  from  the  gardens. 
They  were  running,  not  hastily,  but  quietly  and 
noiselessly  despite  the  great  armfuls  they  carried 
of  some  indeterminate  plunder  that  dangled  to 
the  ground  and  got  awkwardly  between  their  legs. 
They  crossed  the  clearing  and  passed  behind  the 
dense  screen  of  undergrowth. 

The  Explorer  whistled.  Another  man  scuttled 
out,  carrying  a  tray  with  little  bottles,  a  sirih  set. 
The  sun  smote  hotly  on  its  brazen  chiseling.  As 
he  passed,  something  dropped  from  him  to  the 
ground.  Our  driver  suddenly  dived  toward  it, 
but  the  Professor  set  his  great  foot  on  it,  and 
after  scowling  at  him  for  a  moment  bent  and 
picked  it  up.  It  was  a  gold  ornament  of  filigree. 
The  driver  eyed  him  malignantly,  but  strode  on. 

He  turned,  an'd  we  followed  him  into  a  bamboo 


88  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

shed,  whence  came  a  drone  of  high-pitched  child- 
ish voices.  Ten  or  fifteen  very  little  boys  sat  on 
the  floor  before  huge  books.  Their  heads  were 
shaved  and  their  chubby  hands  held  brushes  with 
which  they  splashed  Arabic  letters  on  the  open 
pages.  They  chanted  aloud  as  they  wrote.  But 
there  was  no  master  over  them,  and  one  or  two 
had  left  their  books  and  were  playing  at  knuckle- 
bones in  the  corner. 

Farther  along  we  came  on  a  great  white  house 
of  stucco,  evidently  at  some  earlier  date  aban- 
doned by  a  European  planter,  for  there  were 
traces  of  paths,  and  ruined  fish-ponds  in  the  dis- 
mantled garden,  and  the  house  itself,  though  dis- 
colored by  the  sun,  shutterless  and  doorless,  was 
unmistakably  Dutch  in  design.  Shadows  of 
people  passed  noiselessly  back  and  forth  before 
the  windows,  and  a  sickly  odor  of  humanity  too 
closely  crowded  tainted  the  surrounding  air. 

"Roemah  Rajah  [the  rajah's  house],"  said  the 
driver.  "Rajah  very  sick;  perhaps  dead,"  he 
added,  seemingly  not  at  all  distressed  over  the 
possibility. 

To  the  left  of  the  great  house  rose  the  biggest 
thatched  house  I  ever  saw,  high  on  stilts,  reached 
by  a  shaking  bamboo  stair.  Black  eyes  peered  at 
us  from  the  lattices,  like  eyes  of  mice  from  their 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  89 

holes.  The  driver  looked  toward  them,  and  a 
greedy,  dreaming  expression  passed  across  his 
face. 

"Women,"  he  murmured,  more  to  himself  than 
to  us. 

"Let  us  go  see  them,"  suggested  Miss  Hale- 
Hale  promptly.  "It  must  be  a  harem,  and  I  Ve 
always  rather  wanted  to  see  a  harem." 

"Harem?"  cried  the  Professor.  "Good  Lord, 
what  a  beastly  custom ! ' '  And  in  his  contempt  for 
the  rajah's  domestic  arrangements  he  flung  the 
gold  ornament  that  he  held  into  a  crimson-flowered 
hibiscus  thicket.  Like  a  flash  the  coachman  dived 
after  it,  and,  deciding  to  take  advantage  of  his 
momentary  preoccupation,  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I 
moved  toward  the  rajah's  harem. 

The  Professor  and  the  Explorer  watched  us 
mount  the  stair,  and  then  turning  walked  back 
slowly  toward  the  carriage,  which  awaited  them 
by  the  mosque.  The  Professor  was  explaining  to 
Endicott  that  his  contempt  for  a  man  who  had 
several  wives  extended  equally  to  the  man  who 
had  only  one,  to  which  Endicott,  smiling  rather 
absently,  replied:  "Indeed!" 

At  the  top  of  the  stairway  an  unexpected  obsta- 
cle met  us,  for  a  man  emerged  from  the  dim  in- 
terior, carrying  in  his  hand  a  long  barbed  whip. 
The  hilt  of  a  kris  stuck  in  the  back  of  his  sarong 


90  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

showed  under  his  arm.  He  wore  a  dark  red  tur- 
ban and  sarong,  and  from  his  fiercely  drawn 
brows  and  wild  eyes  I  instantly  visualized  the 
picture  of  an  amok-runner,  feet  slippery  with 
blood,  careering  through  the  dense  streets  of  Ma- 
cassar. He  looked  us  over  an  instant,  during 
which  I  quakingly  took  a  guilder  from  my  little 
hand-bag  and  held  it  out  to  him.  He  took  it, 
bit  it  with  his  teeth,  and  stepped  aside.  We 
went  past  him  into  the  house. 

For  a  moment  we  were  blinded  by  a  gloom 
threaded  with  long  rays  of  light  which  pierced  the 
chinks  of  the  neglected  thatched  roof  and  walls. 
Presently  we  realized  that  the  room  was  crowded 
with  women  sitting,  lying,  standing,  all  struck 
motionless  in  some  attitude  by  our  entrance.  Evi- 
dently we  had  intruded  at  the  sacred  hour  of  the 
toilette,  for  one  woman  had  paused  in  the  act  of 
combing  out  another's  long  hair,  another  bent  over 
a  bowl  of  water,  and  some  held  ornaments  to  their 
ears  or  throats.  Some  were  old,  some  young, 
some  slender,  some  fat,  and  among  them  were 
babies,  crawling  against  their  knees,  whimpering 
neglected  for  the  moment  or  unconcernedly  suck- 
ing their  own  toes.  After  a  second  or  two  of  this 
suspended  animation  they  toppled  over  into  move- 
ment and  sound  like  the  breaking  of  a  wave.  They 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  91 

snatched  their  belongings,  rouge-pots,  and  babies, 
and  scurried  back  and  forth,  to  settle  finally  help- 
lessly in  corners,  and  murmur,  staring  at  us  with 
fright  and  anger  in  their  eyes. 

One  woman  alone  did  not  move,  but  sat  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  looking  up  at  us.  The  long 
sunbeams  from  the  roof  struck  gold  threads  in 
her  sarong,  touched  the  diamonds  in  her  ears,  and 
illumined  her  with  curious  reflected  glows  and 
glimmers  of  light.  She  was  taller  than  the 
others,  strongly  and  perfectly  shaped,  with  black 
hair  drawn  back  from  a  broader  forehead,  and 
in  her  wide  black  eyes  an  indescribable  look  of 
freedom,  unthinkable  in  a  rajah's  harem,  mingled 
with  a  sort  of  half-animal  pathos.  Her  beauty 
held  me  for  some  minutes,  while  she  on  her  part  re- 
turned my  gaze,  not  insolent,  yet  vividly  curious. 

But  the  air  of  the  room  was  close,  odorous  of 
too  many  brown  skins  and  unguents,  and  the  at- 
titude of  the  women  was  disconcerting.  One  baby 
began  to  wail  loudly.  '  *  Let  us  get  out, "  said  Miss 
Hale-Hale.  So  we  went. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ladder  stood  our  Malay  of 
the  whip,  and  three  men  with  him.  As  we  de- 
scended, four  more  came  from  the  rajah's  house 
and  joined  them.  This  group  blocked  our  way, 
but  Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  was  in  advance,  strode 


92  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

boldly  through  them,  and  I  followed.  The  man 
of  the  whip  -brushed  insolently  against  me  as  I 
passed,  and  said  something  close  to  my  face  in 
which  I  caught  only  the  word  tida  (no).  And 
the  whole  eight  jostled  after  us. 

Just  then  I  saw  the  Explorer  walking  toward 
us  from  the  carriage.  I  saw  also  that  the  driver 
was  prevented  from  joining  us  only  by  the  heavy 
hand  of  the  Professor,  which  held  him  on  his  seat. 
I  wanted  to  run,  but  the  sight  of  the  Explorer's 
unhurried  pace  made  me  moderate  my  own.  We 
walked  toward  him,  with  our  eight  Malays 
crowded  around  us,  talking  to  us  and  to  one 
another,  and  fairly  treading  our  heels.  As  the 
Explorer  neared  us  he  looked  very  much  like  a 
man  who  would  carry  only  a  fountain-pen.  Never 
had  his  clothes  so  smacked  of  Regent  Street; 
never  had  his  hair  been  so  smooth ;  never  had  he 
appeared  so  ridiculously  civilized.  Presently  he 
was  within  a  few  feet  of  us.  The  driver  of  our 
carriage  shouted  out  something  to  the  men,  who 
shouted  back  in  their  turn,  and  the  cortege 
stopped. 

There  was*  a  silence.  Then,  "Go  on  to  the 
carriage,"  said  the  Explorer  in  his  gentle  voice. 
We  walked  past  him  a  few  steps,  before  turning 
to  observe  his  encounter  with  our  pursuers.  They 


LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN  93 

stood  still,  facing  Mm,  balanced  on  the  balls  of 
their  feet,  sullen,  eager,  a  bit  uncertain  whether  to 
risk  it  or  not.  It  was  apparent  that  one  move  or 
word  of  his  would  settle  the  matter.  He  might 
offer  them  money;  he  might  swear  and  swagger 
before  them.  I  could  not  imagine  him  doing 
either.  There  was  complete  and  tense  silence. 
Then  the  Explorer,  giving  a  slight,  indescribable 
shrug  of  contempt,  said  clearly  in  English,  "Oh, 
don't  be  absurd!"  and,  turning  around,  walked 
up  and  joined  us. 

No  one  spoke,  no  one  moved,  to  molest  us.  They 
settled  back  on  their  bare  heels  and  sullenly 
watched  our  return  to  the  carriage.  I  can  not 
explain  the  potence  of  the  Explorer's  .strange 
conduct,  but  this  is  what  happened.  As  for  the 
driver,  when  we  had  climbed  in,  he  spat  disgust- 
edly several  times  in  the  -direction  of  the  still  sul- 
lenly watchful  group,  as  if  intending  to  convey 
the  impression  that  he  would  have  behaved  more 
forcibly  had  he  been  eight  men.  Then,  producing 
some  betel-nut,  which  he  kept  wrapped  in  green 
leaves  in  his  belt,  he  tucked  a  cdpious  nrorsel 
into  his  mouth,  and,  shouting  to  his  ponies,  drove 
away. 

The  Professor  was  enchanted  by  the  episode. 
"Bluff!"  he  cried,  as  we  plunged  once  more  into 


94  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  dense  cane  thickets.  "A  perfect  piece  of 
bluff.  Who  says  the  English  can't  do  it!" 

"They  can't,"  said  the  Explorer  calmly. 

"What  is  this?  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
you  Ve  just  shown  us  a  specimen,  what  el'se  is  it 
enables  you  to  command  the  seas,  what  else  en- 
ables a  handful  of  you  to  abuse  a  thousand 
natives,  what  else — why,  my  dear  fellow,  the  in- 
stances are  too  many,  too  obvious.  I  'd  talk  for- 
ever. ' ' 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  the  Explorer.  "I  '11 
explain.  You  Americans,  I  believe,  say  to  your- 
selves something  like  this :  'Here  is  a  fellow  with 
every  appearance  of  being  stronger  than  I.  He 
eats  more,  he  exercises  more,  and  So-and-So  says 
he  has  seen  him  crack  plates  with  his  teeth.  Very 
good.  I  have  therefore  only  one  chance,  which 
is  to  assume  that  I  am  the  stronger,  and  on  this 
assumption,  which  I  know  to  be  almost  certainly 
false,  behave  in  so  high-handed  a  manner  that 
he  may  never  discover  his  superiority  and  my 
weakness/  Isn't  that  about  so?" 

"I    guess    it    is,"    the    Professor    admitted. 

"Well,  then,  what  we  say  is  like  this :  'Here  is 
a  fellow  with  every  appearance  of  being  stronger 
than  I.  He  eats  more,  he  exercises  more,  So-and- 
So  tells  me  he  has  seen  him  crack  plates  with 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  95 

his  teeth.'  So  far  the  same,  but  see  here  the 
difference.  'I  am  English,  and  being  English  am 
necessarily  superior  not  only  in  mere  strength 
but  any  other  qualities  that  I  consider  desirable, 
even  supposing  him  to  possess  them.  Therefore, 
on  this  assumption,  which  I  know  to  be  an  in- 
fallible one,  I  treat  him  for  the  inferior  that  I 
know  him  to  be/  " 

"Well,  I'll  be—  " 

11  Don't,"  said  the  Explorer,  and  they  both 
laughed. 

"If  what  you  have  just  described  is  not  bluff," 
I  asked,  "what  is  it,  then?" 

"It  has  been  called  by  several  names,"  he 
answered,  "but  the  real  one  has  never  been 
invented. ' ' 

"Nevertheless,"  I  said,  "all  that  does  not  ex- 
plain how  an  Englishman  deals  with  an  English- 
man. ' ' 

"That  takes  more  explaining,"  he  replied.  "It 
is  infinitely  more  complicated."  But  before  he 
could  begin  Miss  Hale-Hale  said  wearily : 

"You  know,  all  this  is  really  rather  rubbish. 
What  difference  does  it  make,  anyway?" 

On  the  road  back,  which  seemed,  as  it  always 
does,  shorter  than  the  outgoing  road,  we  all 


96  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

chatted  most  amiably  together.  About  half- 
way we  came  on  a  battalion  of  native  soldiers 
tramping  barefoot  in  the  dust,  with  a  young  Dutch 
lieutenant  on  horseback  urging  them  to  greater 
speed.  Nevertheless  he  took  time  to  ask  in  per- 
,fect  English  for  the  use  of  a  match,  which  the 
Explorer  gave  him. 

As  he  lit  his  cigarette  the  Explorer  asked: 
1  'Can  you  by  any  chance  be  going  to  visit  our 
rajah?" 

1  'Oh,  you  Ve  been  there?"  asked  the  lieutenant, 
smiling.  "You  must  have  had  an  interesting 
visit?" 

"We  did." 

"Perhaps  you  noticed  he  was  dead." 

"Yes,  we  did  notice  that." 

"Quite  recently." 

"So  it  seemed." 

"Such  cattle!"  he  sighed,  throwing  away  the 
match.  "No  scruple,  no  decency,  nothing.  Now 
I've  got  to  clean  up.  Beastly  work."  And 
touching  his  cap,  he  turned  to  stir  up  his  men, 
who  had  taken  advantage  of  this  short  respite  to 
scatter  to  the  shady  sides  of  the  road.  In  a 
cloud  of  dust  they  moved  on. 

As  we  came  back  through  the  tangled  streets 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  97 

of  Macassar,  dense  purple  twilight  was  already 
descending  on  the  city.  At  one  narrow  corner  we 
had  to  stop  to  let  a  gang  of  prisoners  pass.  They 
were  chained  one  to  another,  and  the  last  man, 
who  was  young,  dragged  on  his  chain  and  stum- 
bled. He  passed  directly  before  us,  and  I  saw 
that  not  only  were  both  hands  cut  off  at  the  wrists, 
but  he  was  stone-blind  as  well.  The  expression  of 
his  youthful  sightless  face,  the  drag  of  his  strong 
peasant  body,  made  me  cover  my  eyes  with  my 
hand.  What  unspeakable  Malay  horror  can  he 
have  committed  or  been  the  victim  of  to  arrive 
at  this  pass  I 

But  farther  on,  by  the  Chinese  temple  with  its 
porcelain  gables,  we  saw  a  delightful  sight.  Two 
Macassarese  babies,  just  able  to  toddle,  and  clad 
decorously  in  silver  fig-leaves,  were  bidding  each 
other  good-by  for  the  night.  They  had  reached 
a  corner  where,  apparently,  one  went  one  way  and 
one  the  other.  But  they  could  not  get  past  it. 
They  would  kiss  each  other  with  tears  in  their 
eyes,  and  toddle  off  in  each  direction,  only  to  hesi- 
tate and  come  back  around  the  angle  of  the  build- 
ing, to  kiss  and  weep  once  more.  We  left  them 
still  separating. 

Finally  we  walked  again  among  the  ebony  logs 


98  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

on  the  quay.  The  Explorer  lagged  a  bit,  and  I 
with  him.  Suddenly  he  flung  his  cane  up  into  the 
air,  caught  it,  and  exclaimed  boyishly:  "I  can 
do  without  that  if  Hike!" 

" Please  don't,"  I  said  earnestly;  "you  will 
hurt  your  leg. ' ' 

"And  if  I  do?" 

' '  I  shall  be  very  much  concerned. ' ' 

"Will  you,  indeed?"  he  exclaimed,  taking  my 
arm  to  help  me  over  a  log.  "Then  it  would  be 
quite  worth  it.  I  believe  I  '11  even  break  it." 

"You  must  not  be  foolish,"  I  said.  "If  you 
did  you  would  never  see  the  volcano  with  the  Pro- 
fessor." 

' '  Confound  the  volcano !  Confound  the  Profes- 
sor! You  know  jolly  well  why  I  would  take  that 
trip." 

"Science,"  I  suggested  with  caution. 

"Confound  science!"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"It  would  be  to  see  two  more  days  of  you.  Why, 
for  two  days  with  you  I  'd  scale  Mount  Everest — 
I  'd  climb  right  up  into  heaven  itself." 

"You  must  not  be  foolish,"  I  said — not  forcibly 
enough,  I  'm  afraid.  But  by  this  time  we  had 
reached  the  gangway.  SINBAD. 


LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN  99 

At  sea. 

—  December,  19 — . 
Hinbad: 

How  can  I  tell  you  of  what  has  happened? 
I  have  stared  at  this  sheet  of  paper  for  an  hour, 
without  finding  adequate  words  for  the  calamity 
that  has  overtaken  me.  You  will  say  it  was  my 
fault,  I  am  sure.  But  it  was  not  my  fault;  and 
yet,  I  could  almost  prefer  it  to  be,  for  I  so  loath 
these  grotesque  interventions  of  chance.  Yet  I 
really  thought  the  thing  was  secure  enough — I 
suppose  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning. 

When  we  returned  from  Macassar  I  was  tired, 
as  even  a  day  of  slight  exertion  in  the  tropics  is 
apt  to  make  one.  So  I  went  below  to  rest  before 
dressing  for  dinner.  I  lay  down  and  slept  heavily 
for  more  than  an  hour,  and  when  I  awoke  the  ship 
was  well  under  way.  It  was  after  seven  and  I 
would  be  late  for  dinner.  I  threw  off  my  clothes 
to  bathe,  and — Hinbad,  how  can  I  tell  you? — my 
chamois  bag  was  gone  from  my  neck,  and  with  it 
my  four  hundred  dollars!  For  a  moment  this 
discovery  paralyzed  me.  Then  I  frantically 
shook  each  garment  and  felt  over  every  inch  of  the 
floor.  I  did  not  find  it ;  nor  yet,  later,  could  I  see 
it  anywhere  along  my  path  from  the  gangway  to 
my  cabin. 


100  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

Of  course  I  notified  the  purser,  but  he  took  the 
news  stolidly.  Moreover,  he  gave  me  a  quite 
unexpected  glance  of  suspicion  and  distrust.  He 
said  he  would  investigate.  But  in  my  heart  I 
know  it  is  gone.  Somewhere  in  that  vast  hive  of 
Macassar  I  have  lost  it.  It  may  have  come  loose, 
slipping  through  my  clothes,  and  fallen  anywhere. 
The  driver  may  have  picked  it  from  the  floor  of 
the  carriage.  The  fierce  Malay  may  have 
snatched  it  by  a  loose  end  from  my  neck,  as  I 
came  unheeding  in  my  fright  from  the  rajah's 
harem.  But  it  is  gone ! 

I  dropped  back,  sick  and  trembling,  on  my 
bunk,  and  lay  there  through  dinner-time.  I  could 
not  bring  myself  to  go  up  and  appear  cheerful 
under  the  lights.  Gradually  the  realization  came 
to  me  that  I  am  not  entirely  ruined.  I  still  have 
thirty  dollars  or  a  little  more  in  my  hand-bag. 
Moreover,  the  Dutch  steamship  company  pays 
money  for  first-class  fares  across  Java  of  those 
who  wish  to  avoid  going  the  much  longer  route 
by  boat  from  Soerabaya  to  Batavia.  By  buy- 
ing second-class  fare  instead  of  first  I  can  use  the 
difference  for  hotel  bills,  and,  with  the  slight  sur- 
plus of  my  thirty,  still  make  the  trip  that  way. 
In  short,  I  have  enough  to  get  to  Singapore,  and 
once  in  Singapore  I  am  safe.  I  suppose,  as  one 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  101 

so  often  hears,  nothing  is  so  bad  but  it  might  be 
worse.  Nevertheless,  the  sickening  sense  of  loss 
persisted,  and  I  slept  little  that  hot  night.  I 
heard  laughter  on  the  decks  above,  but  gradually 
the  ship  grew  quiet  and  dark,  plowing  her  way  un- 
concernedly toward  Java  through  flaming  seas  of 
phosphorus. 

I  rather  hoped  you,  Hinbad,  would  appear  in 
the  form  of  a  djinni,  even  at  the  risk  of  hearing 
"I  told  you  so";  but  some  uncommon  delicacy 
of  feeling  must  have  restrained  you,  or  you  were 
otherwise  engrossed.  At  any  rate,  you  did  not. 

But  one  always  sleeps  toward  morning  after  a 
bad  night,  and  awakes  with  a  roaring  headache — 
at  least,  I  do.  My  first  thought  was,  "Oh,  my 
money,  my  money  I"  I  did  not  see  how  I  could 
get  up.  In  fact,  I  could  not  get  up.  I  ordered 
strong  coffee  from  Pomidin,  and  drank  two  cups 
without  sugar  or  milk.  This,  being  pure  Java 
coffee,  made  me  extremely  sick,  so  I  stayed  in  bed 
till  noon. 

About  four  o  'clock  I  got  up  on  deck  for  a  breath 
of  air.  After  consideration  I  had  decided  to  say 
nothing  of  my  loss  to  my  friends.  It  would  not 
sound  probable  enough.  Nothing  I  am  doing 
sounds  probable  enough.  In  traveling,  even  those 
friendly  inclined  are  apt  to  be  alert  for  any  suspi- 


102  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

cion  of  undesirability.  We  are  so  uncertain  of 
one  another's  real  worth  that  we  stand  on  tiptoe 
the  whole  time,  ready  for  unqualified  retreat. 
Ajid  the  first  plea  of  the  adventuress  is  only  too 
apt  to  be  one  for  sympathy.  So,  while  to  borrow 
money  from  my  friends  would  be  unthinkable,  to 
suggest  that  I  needed  it  would  be  almost  as  bad, 
for  I  could  endure  no  faintest  flavor  of  the  adven- 
turess cast  over  me  in  their  eyes. 

I  found  them  all  together  at  our  favorite  spot 
on  the  deck.  They  rose  to  greet  me,  and  it 
warmed  my  heart  to  hear  their  apparent  concern 
for  my  absence.  The  Explorer  asked  if  I  had 
had  fever,  and  added  that  if  I  had  I  must 
see  the  doctor  at  once  and  not  let  it  get  a  start 
on  me.  Miss  Hale-Hale  said  she  looked  in  on  me 
during  the  night  and  found  me  asleep.  I  believed 
this  to  be  impossible,  but  how  easily  is  one  de- 
ceived about  the  amount  of  sleep  one  has  had 
during  a  restless  night ! 

I  saw  that  the  Professor  had  his  chair  full  of 
pamphlets  and  had  been  reading  to  the  others. 

"What  is  all  that?"  I  asked. 

"The  volcano,"  he  replied.  "I  'm  looking  up 
rates  and  so  on.  We  will  go  straight  there  from 
Soerabaya,  the  morning  after  we  arrive. 


LETTEKS  TO  A  DJINN  103 

Nothing  at  all  in  Soerabaya ;  it  's  a  clean,  prosper- 
ous, Dutch,  beastly  hole.  Then  we  can  go  straight 
from  the  volcano  on  to  Djokjakarta,  which  I 
believe  one  may  call  Djokja  for  short." 

*  *  Oh,  by  the  way, ' '  said  the  Explorer  very  casu- 
ally, "I  've  decided  to  come  along." 

"Have  you!"  I  exclaimed. 

Do  you  know,  Hinbad,  I  had  clean  forgot  all 
this  volcano  business.  What  in  the  world  was  I 
to  do  now?  You  see  at  once,  as  I  did,  the  position 
I  would  be  in  by  withdrawing  after  the  Explorer 's 
decision  to  join  us. 

"But  why  should  you  object  to  this  position?" 
you  ask  sharply. 

Really,  Hinbad,  I  don't  quite  know  why  1 
should,  but  somehow  I  do.  Anyway,  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  tell  them  then  as  ever. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  I  said  stiltedly,  "that  I  don't 
believe  I  am  going  to  be  able  to  go  to  the  volcano, 
after  all." 

They  were  astonished.  Their  complete  silence 
proclaimed  it  too  forcibly.  Then,  *  *  Indeed ! ' '  said 
the  Explorer,  looking  at  me  very  curiously. 

"But  why  not?"  cried  Miss  Hale-Hale.  "I 
shall  be  so  disappointed." 

"That 's  kind  of  you,"  I  said;  "but  the  fact  is, 


104  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

I  don't  find  I  am  quite  able  to  afford  it.  I  have 
just  mislaid — er — rather  lost — a  sum  of  money  I 
expected  to  spend  on  the  trip. ' ' 

"Lost  some  money?    Where!"  they  exclaimed. 

"If  that  is  all,"  cried  the  Explorer  heartily, 
"let  us  lend  you  some." 

"'Oh,  no,  indeed,"  I  cried  hastily;  "indeed,  no! 
I  would  never  think  of  it.  It  was  not  a  large 
sum.  I  am  really  not  inconvenienced,  to  speak 
of.  I—" 

Here  I  began  to  flounder.  "Besides,  I  don't 
feel  quite  well  enough  for  the  trip.  I  am  afraid 
it  will  be  too  hard. ' ' 

Now,  why  couldn't  I  have  left  flhis  at  one 
excuse!  Two  or  three  weakened  it  to  an 
absurdity ! 

Miss  Hale-Hale  and  the  Professor  continued  to 
look  at  me  in  astonishment ;  but  the  Explorer  got 
up  abruptly  and  walked  across  the  deck  to  the  rail. 
There  was  a  long  and  difficult  silence.  Then  the 
Professor  said: 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  It  requires  an 
experienced  traveler  for  this  sort  of  thing.  I 
should  not  advise  it  myself,  as  I  told  you  all 
along. f1 

"No,"  I  said  feebly;  "I  did  not  think  it  would 
be  wise." 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  105 

The  Professor  rustled  his  papers  anxiously,  and 
in  a  moment  the  Explorer  returned  to  his  chair. 
"There  are  whole  schools  of  flying-fish  out  there," 
he  said  in  his  quiet,  cultivated  voice,  with  no 
trace  of  any  possible  emotion  on  his  face. 

The  talk  went  on  about  other  things.  After  all, 
they  have  no  right  to  question  my  decision,  and 
worse  still  I  have  no  right  to  explain  it  to 
them. 

As  I  dressed  for  dinner  that  night,  which  I  did 
with  very  special  care,  I  could  not  prevent 
tears  running  down  my  nose,  to  my  great  incon- 
venience. 

This  incident  of  the  Explorer,  Hinbad, 
depresses  me  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  impor- 
tance in  the  general  catastrophe. 

SINBAD. 

Soerabya,  Java. 
—  December,  19 — . 

Java  is  not  a  place  to  burst  upon  one  like — say 
Tahiti — rising  from  the  sea  and  clouds.  As  we 
saw  it,  at  least,  it  was  merely  a  low  alluvial  floor 
stretching  into  the  sea,  channeled  by  the  muddy 
golden  current  of  the  Kali  Mas — "River  of 
Gold.'1  "We  made  Soerabaya  at  three  o'clock, 
a  most  inconsiderate  hour.  Of  course  we  could 


106  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

have  waited  for  the  cool  of  the  day,  but  who  is 
going  to  do  that  with  Java  spread  out  before  one! 
The  Captain  most  punctiliously  saw  us  off.  I  told 
him  we  had  had  a  wonderful  trip,  different  from 
all  other  trips. 

"So,"  he  said,  smiling  benignly.  "It  is  she 
who  makes  the  trip  different  from  all  other  trips. 
But  she  must  not  say  good-by,  only  au  revoir,  for 
I  see  -her  in  Batavia." 

"Really,  will  you  be  there!" 

"I  be  there,  and  my  ship  also."  He  waved  his 
hand  to  us  as  our  launch  moved  off.  "In  Ba- 
tavia," he  called  over  the  rail — "in  Batavia  I 
look  after  her." 

I  smiled  and  waved  back.  Clutching  the  side  of 
the  launch,  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  ever  reached 
Batavia  I  might  indeed  need  looking  after. 

On  the  steaming  dock  we  waited  among  the  piles 
of  rattan  while  the  customs  officers  went  through 
our  trunks.  The  Professor's  and  Explorer's 
were  subject  to  endless  inspection.  Miss  Hale- 
Hale,  who  carried,  English  fashion,  innumer- 
able small  boxes,  disclosed  tennis  rackets  and 
golf  clubs,  collapsible  rubber  bath-tubs  and  other 
strange  paraphernalia.  My  own  small  steamer 
trunk  occupied  them  a  little  over  one  minute. 

We  finally  got  into  a  carriage  and  drove  along 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  107 

the  river  into  narrow  white  streets  dense  with 
people.  It  was  by  now  almost  five  o'clock.  We 
passed  into  wider  roads  among  gardens  shaded 
by  great  crimson  flamboyant  trees  and  banyans. 
Many  carriages  passed  us,  moving  leisurely  with 
their  strange  occupants.  It  was  the  social  hour 
of  the  day,  so  we  were  once  more  subject  to  the 
insolent,  heavy-eyed  stares  of  pale  Dutch 
colonials,  to  the  curiosity  of  wealthy  half- 
castes  and  Chinese  merchants '  families.  One  car- 
riage full  of  pretty,  tittering  Chinese  girls 
stopped  by  us  a  moment.  They  wore  lilac  coats 
and  pale-blue  trousers,  with  jade  and  gold  in  their 
black  hair.  Some  sailors  from  a  German  gun- 
boat, the  Komet,  rode  noisily  past.  No  pure- 
blooded  Javanese  were  in  evidence. 

We  went  to  several  hotels  before  finding  rooms, 
and  had  to  be  content  with  a  second-best,  for 
which  I  was  secretly  glad  because  of  the  price. 
Did  I  say  rooms?  I  should  have  said  pavilions, 
for  they  stood  detached  in  various  parts  of  the 
unkempt  grounds  at  some  distance  from  the  main 
group  of  buildings.  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  shared 
one.  It  was  vast.  Our  footsteps  on  its  tiled 
floor,  our  murmured  ejaculations,  reverberated 
from  the  lofty  ceiling.  Our  small  boxes  and  bags 
and  our  steamer-rolls  were  lost  in  it.  In  the  cen- 


108  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

ter  stood  a  bed,  pompous,  bedraped  in  voluminous 
netting,  immense  enough  to  accommodate  six  of 
Miss  Hale-Hale  and  me. 

We  wanted  a  bath.  The  feeble  old  Malay 
"boy"  who  had  brought  us  limped  before  us  down 
a  cement  pathway  to  the  kamar  mandi,  the  bath- 
houses, where  we  found  a  tank  of  cold  water  and 
a  bucket  and  rope  operated  by  a  hand  pulley.  At 
the  noise  of  our  entrance  a  bat  squeaked  over- 
head, and  a  curious-looking  frog  plunked  hastily 
into  the  tank,  followed  by  a  tiny  horde  of  unidenti- 
fied creatures  raising  a  flurry  of  startled  sounds. 

"  'What  we  are  accustomed  to  call  insects,'  : 
said  I,  quoting  the  Professor. 

"Bather!"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale  a  bit  absently, 
beginning  to  remove  her  clothes. 

"I  don't  like  to  wash  in  this,"  I  said  with  hesi- 
tation. "It  looks  so  horrid  to  get  into — " 

"Rubbish!"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale  reprovingly. 
"It  's  a  lot  more  horrid  not  to."  And,  setting 
the  stoic  example,  she  removed  her  last  garment. 

"You  pull  the  rope  for  me,"  she  said,  "and 
then  I'll  pull  it  for  you." 

And  so  we  bathed. 

At  supper  in  a  vast  white  dining-hall  there  was 
a  decided  constraint  over  us.  Perhaps  it  was  the 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  109 

cold  looks  of  the  few  Dutchmen  who  sat  at  near-by 
tables.  Perhaps  it  was  the  fact  that  the  so  ob- 
vious and  unavoidable  topic  of  conversation  was 
the  volcano,  for  which  the  three  would  leave  at 
dawn  the  next  day.  At  any  rate,  the  Explorer 
scarcely  spoke ;  the  Professor  is  seldom  bothered 
to  speak  while  eating ;  and  the  strain  of  conversa- 
tion with  Miss  Hale-Hale  was  almost  more  than  I 
felt  equal  to.  I  told  myself  afterward,  as  we  sat 
out  under  the  trees  listening  to  a  small  band  play 
in  a  near-by  pavilion,  that  we  had  been  in  too  close 
quarters  for  the  last  few  weeks  and  would  do  well 
to  separate  for  a  day  or  so.  We  would  be  better 
friends  than  before  when  they  returned. 

I  soon  perceived  that  all  Soerabaya  intended  to 
go  to  bed  at  about  ten  o'clock.  The  streets  grew 
dark  and  deserted,  the  Javanese  boys  rolled  over 
and  slept  along  the  galleries,  and  a  few  Dutch- 
men emerged  in  pajamas  and  began  to  play  cards 
outside  their  doors,  talking  in  low  voices  and 
striking  at  the  various  insects  attracted  by  their 
lamps.  It  was  obviously  the  thing  for  us  to  re- 
tire, too.  But,  in  spite  of  my  theory  of  the  bene- 
fits attaching  to  the  coming  separation,  I  did  not 
wish  to.  I  had  nothing  to  say,  but  seemed  to  pre- 
fer that  we  should  sit  around  indefinitely.  I  was 
most  unreasonably  annoyed  when  Miss  Hale-Hale 


110  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

rose  and  said  sensibly:  "Well,  we  must  get  up 
early,  you  know,  so  good  night." 

As  we  neared  our  pavilion  it  shone  out  star- 
ingly  white  and  empty,  too  conspicuous,  I  thought, 
in  the  dark  garden.  Inside  it  seemed  vaster  than 
before;  our  voices  echoed  more  loudly  from  the 
ceiling;  and  I  should  have  anticipated  as  much 
comfort  from  the  catafalque  of  a  dead  emperor 
as  from  that  bed.  Nevertheless  we  undressed 
and  climbed  in  under  the  net.  Our  boy  blew  out 
the  light  and  then  laid  himself  before  the  swing- 
ing door  and  slept.  Miss  Hale-Hale  also  slept, 
but  I  lay  awake. 

Gradually  the  room  became  half  lit  with  the  re- 
flections of  lamps  strung  on  the  trees  outside. 
One  stretch  of  white  ceiling  was  fully  illumined, 
showing  every  scar  and  stain  on  it.  I  watched 
a  spider,  fat  and  dark,  crawl  across  its  area,  stop 
in  the  middle,  start  off  in  several  directions,  then 
return  and  spin  its  way  downward  toward  me. 
Strange  rustlings  and  creepings  filled  the  room. 
I  heard  rather  than  saw  the  insects  emerge  from 
the  corners  and  crawl  slowly  on  their  obscure 
nocturnal  errands  back  and  forth  across  the  wall 
and  floor.  Mosquitos  sang  outside  the  net,  sev- 
eral larger-winged  things  flew  blindly  against  the 
walls,  only  to  drop  with  dull  taps  to  the  floor. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  111 

These  irritated  me  especially — the  purposeless- 
ness  of  the  creatures!  Then  the  lizards  began. 
From  a  dark  corner  overhead  came  a  voice  almost 
human,  startlingly  near,  speaking  a  grotesque 
tongue :  Tokay — tokay — tokay.  It  was  answered 
from  other  parts  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  Miss  Hale-Hale,"  I  groaned,  "can  you 
sleep  in  this?" 

She  could.  She  could  sleep  in  it.  She  could 
bathe  in  it.  She  had  been  in  the  tropics  before. 
I  tossed  about,  worried  suddenly  by  a  thousand 
problems  as  persistent  as  the  sounds  around  me 
— the  volcano,  the  insects,  the  heat,  my  money, 
you,  Hinbad,  and  the  Explorer — all  these 
tore  at  my  nerves,  and  I  felt  that  I  could  never 
sleep  again.  But  quite  suddenly,  quite  in  the 
midst  of  some  complicated  unravelment  of  things, 
I  did.  SINBAD. 

Djokjakarta,  Java. 
—  December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 

At  daylight  this  morning  I  heard  vague  sounds 
that  I  knew  to  be  the  indications  of  Miss  Hale- 
Hale 's  departure.  I  would  not  let  them  rouse 
me,  however,  but  buried  my  head  in  the  pillows  so 
as  not  to  hear  the  Explorer's  steps  on  the  flags 


112  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

outside.  But  I  did  hear  them.  I  heard  her  as- 
sure him  she  was  quite  ready, — of  course,  she 
would  be  that, — heard  her  tell  him  he  might  not 
come  in,  as  I  was  still  in  bed,  heard  them  go  off 
discussing  their  breakfast.  I  thereupon  deter- 
mined never  to  open  my  eyes  again  upon  this 
illusory  world.  But  I  opened  them  later,  because 
the  sun  was  shining  on  my  mosquito  netting,  mak- 
ing the  room  look  strangely  bright  and  hazy  out- 
side. Under  the  door  I  saw  my  boy's  shadow 
moving  back  and  forth. 

I  said  to  myself :  *  *  They  have  gone  off  and  left 
me  alone.  If  they  had  really  liked  me  they  would 
not  have  done  this.  There  is  no  further  zest  in 
life  for  me.  Therefore  I  shall  lie  here  in  bed 
without  any  breakfast,  seeing  nothing,  and  try 
to  get  what  comfort  I  can  by  making  myself  even 
more  needlessly  miserable."  Thereupon,  Hin- 
bad,  you  rose  before  me  in  the  form  of  a  djinn, 
as  I  had  rather  hoped  you  would. 

"Good  morning,"  said  I.  "This  is  a  sad  state 
you  find  me  in." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  you  replied.  "Your 
state  is  sad  only  because  it  indicates  the  feeble- 
ness of  your  resources." 

"I  thought  you  would  say  that,"  I  replied. 
"What  do  you  want  me,  to  dot" 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  113 

"Get  up  at  once,"  you  said,  "and  go  to  Djokja- 
karta. Don't  waste  another  moment  of  these 
precious  five  days/' 

"I  hear  and  obey,"  said  I,  getting  up  half- 
way. "But  understand,  please,  that  I  am  com- 
pletely disillusioned  and  nothing  could  possibly 
interest  me  again."  Whereupon  you  vanished, 
and  I  got  up  entirely. 

Every  one  had  told  me  that  I  should  not 
travel  second  class  in  the  Orient,  but  being  so 
poor,  as  well  as  so  disillusioned,  I  bought  a 
second-class  ticket.  I  found  the  seats  hard  and 
narrow,  one  on  each  side  of  an  aisle  that  barely 
permitted  the  passage  of  a  capacious  Dutchman. 
The  swinging  door,  evidently  much  admired  here, 
cut  off  each  group  of  four  seats.  Opposite  me 
sat  a  Javanese  in  drill  coat  and  sarong,  across 
the  aisle  two  Dutchmen,  very  fat.  The  Dutchmen 
stared  at  me  for  an  unconscionable  time,  while 
the  Javanese  looked  politely  and  abstractedly 
past  my  head,  as  if  he  were  aware  of  my  presence 
but  did  not  wish  to  render  the  situation  more  em- 
barrassing by  any  rudeness  on  his  part. 

The  morning  freshness  was  already  gone  when 
we  started,  and  the  fiery  ordeal  of  a  tropic  day 
settled  down  upon  us.  Great  cumulous  clouds 
half  obscured  the  volcanic  cones  along  the  hori- 


114  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

zon,  and  through  the  heat  hazes  the  frequent 
dazzle  of  inundated  rice-fields  smote  my  eyes. 
Only  vaguely  could  I  discern  the  immense  golden 
fecundity  of  the  land  we  were  passing  through. 
From  the  very  force  of  the  heat  I  began  to  drowse, 
while  the  two  Dutchmen  across  the  aisle  soon 
snored  sonorously.  The  train  started  and 
stopped,  doors  opened,  people  got  off  and  on, 
baggage  was  shifted.  Almost  the  only  thing  I 
was  persistently  conscious  of  was  the  trickle  of 
perspiration  down  my  back.  Once  in  a  while  I 
opened  my  eyes  suddenly,  to  see  a  yellow  thatch 
cart  ambling  across  a  causeway  in  the  rice-fields, 
or  again  a  glimpse  of  gray  water-buffalos  in  the 
river  shallows.  The  call  for  lunch  penetrated  my 
torpor,  and  the  suggestion  of  a  cup  of  hot  tea 
was  potent  enough  to  drag  me  off  to  the  dining- 
car. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  kitchen  sat  a  being  be- 
hind a  table,  a  half-caste  maitre  d'hotel.  From 
his  quick,  officious  look  I  suspected  him  of  speak- 
ing English,  but  there  was  something  about  his 
presence,  combined  perhaps  with  the  all-pervad- 
ing heat,  that  was  offensive  to  me,  and  I  deter- 
mined to  thwart  any  designs  he  might  have  of 
trying  his  English  on  me.  I  sat  down  stolidly, 
therefore,  and  demanded  the  soerat  mdkan  in  a 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  115 

loud,  firm  voice  from  the  Malay  waiter.  I  stud- 
ied this  some  time,  and  decided  for  the  panas, 
nassi,  soesoe,  goelah,  roti,  mentiga,  dan  ananas. 
This  I  ordered  clearly,  distinctly,  but,  to  my  cha- 
grin, the  boy  brought  me,  absolutely  without  com- 
ment, a  regulation  table  d'hote  luncheon  of  repul- 
sively cooked  European  dishes ;  and,  to  make  mat- 
ters worse,  the  maitre  d'hotel  regarded  me  with  a 
sort  of  veiled  smirk,  which  plainly  said:  "If  you 
will  not  order  through  me,  this  is  exactly  what  you 
deserve." 

When  I  returned,  a  Chinaman  in  a  pongee  suit 
was  occupying  my  seat.  The  two  Dutchmen  had 
left  and  two  natives  had  taken  their  places.  So 
I  said  very  politely  to  the  Chinaman:  "This  is 
my  seat ;  my  baggage  is  beneath  it,  «my  topee  is 
in  the  rack." 

He  looked  at  me  imperturbably  without  stir- 
ring. I  had  recourse  to  pantomime,  pointing  to 
my  things  and  establishing  their  connection  with 
myself,  showing  him  my  ticket,  that  he  might  be 
sure  I  was  no  impostor.  But  he  turned  to  look 
out  the  window,  and  began  to  fan  himself  with  a 
curiously  braided  fan  on  which  was  painted  a 
long-nosed  gold  monster  with  a  red  eye.  I  hoped 
the  conductor  would  come  along,  but  he  didn't; 
I  hoped  you  would  rise  before  him  in  the  form 


116  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

of  a  djinn,  but  evidently  you  dared  not.  Feeling 
myself  bereft  of  human  or  supernatural  aid,  I 
said  to  him:  "Sir,  I  am  sorry  in  having  ap- 
peared to  expect  courtesy  from  a  barbarian. " 
And  I  thereupon  turned  my  back  and  leaned 
against  the  swinging  doors  till  the  conductor 
should  come. 

"That  was  a  very  silly  speech,"  say  you. 

" Indeed !"  I  reply.  "Just  wait  till  you  see 
what  happened." 

Almost  immediately  I  felt  a  hand  touch  my 
shoulder,  and  turning,  faced  my  late  antagonist, 
who  now  wore  the  suavest  of  smiles.  ' '  Take  your 
seat,  Miss,"  said  he  in  English,  and  I  promptly 
took  it. 

Then  he  seated  himself  opposite,  and  I  realized 
that  he  had  either  ejected  the  Javanese  or  the 
Javanese  had  courteously  obliterated  himself. 
But  I  was  too  hot  to  bother  with  the  doubtful  pro- 
cesses of  his  courtesy,  and  I  proceeded  to  doze 
off  again. 

Later  on  I  felt  the  same  touch  on  my  arm. 
The  Chinaman  was  holding  out  a  silk  bag  full  of 
small  round  fruits.  "Taste  these,  please,  Miss," 
said  he  in  his  perfect,  stilted  English. 

"But  you  did  not  taste  them,  I  hope,"  say 
you. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  117 

''Did  you  wish  me  to  cherish  resentment?"  I 
demand. 

"It  is  not  that,"  you  protest,  "but  it  was  not 
proper!" 

"Why  strain  at  a  gnat,  having  swallowed  a 
camel  I ' '  say  I.  "It  was  so  highly  improper,  my 
being  here  in  the  first  place." 

But,  as  I  was  saying,  the  Chinaman  offered  me 
a  doecoe,  as  he  called  it,  and  I  took  one.  It  was 
so  exquisitely  tart  and  cool  that  in  a  short  time 
I  had  nearly  eaten  his  bag  empty. 

Presently  a  Javanese  couple  replaced  the  two 
men  in  our  compartment.  The  man  was  an  of- 
ficial, for  he  wore  a  white-and-gold  cap  over  his 
batik  turban  and  carried  a  cane  with  a  military 
swagger.  His  lady  was  sprayed  over  with  dia- 
mond ornaments  in  hair  and  ears,  which  did  not 
prevent  her  from  fastening  her  silk  kabaja  with  a 
large  safety-pin  in  front.  She  immediately  pro- 
duced a  pail,  from  which  she  ate  chicken  and  rice 
with  her  delicate  fingers,  finishing  off  by  a  finger 
wash  and  a  noisy  rinsing  of  the  mouth  in  rose- 
water: 

"These  people,"  vouchsafed  my  Chinese 
friend,  "are  going  also  to  Djokja,  where  the  man 
is  an  official.  The  soeltan  lives  at  Djokja  in  a  pal- 
ace. Do  you  care  for  palaces!" 


118  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

' '  Oh,  very  much, ' '  I  assured  him. 

"I  was  once  a  merchant  in  San  Francisco,"  he 
told  me  further,  "but  now  I  have  a  palace  in 
Soekaboemi.  It  surpasses  the  dalem  at  Djokja. 
You  should  visit  it." 

"Indeed!"  said  I,  and  fell  asleep  again. 

Presently  he  touched  my  arm  for  the  last  time. 
"This  is  Djokjakarta.  Please  get  off.  I  have  a 
coolie.  He  has  already  your  baggage." 

True,  the  train  was  at  a  standstill,  and  a  coolie 
was  struggling  with  my  things.  *  *  Thank  you  so 
much,"  I  said;  "you  have  been  very  kind." 

"Sometimes,"  said  he  deprecatingly,  "I  try." 

On  the  platform  I  fell  at  once  into  the  clutches 
of  a  mandoer,  who  took  me  off  to  a  hotel.  It 
seemed  a  nice  hotel,  where  I  was  at  once  installed 
in  a  pavilion  spacious  and  lonely. 

"Miss  Hale-Hale,"  said  I,  "I  shall  be  wishing 
for  you  to-night." 

Of  course  I  can  not  afford  carriages,  but  I  took 
one  nevertheless,  for  I  was  too  tired  to  walk.  The 
clerk  asked  me  if  I  wished  to  go  to  the  kraton,  but 
I  did  not  want  that  experience  for  the  fag-end  of 
a  day,  so  we  started  off  aimlessly,  my  driver  and 
I.  I  have  an  idea  that  this  indefinite  arrangement 
suited  his  temperament  exactly,  for  he  turned 
once  in  a  while  to  smile  placidly  at  me.  I  amused 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  119 

myself  by  directing  him:  "Kiri  [left] — kaiian 
[right] ' '  along  whatever  vista  seemed  most  in- 
viting. 

We  passed  under  the  gloom  of  immense  trees, 
palm,  kanari,  and  banyan,  till,  in  what  seemed  a 
suburb,  we  came  on  a  Chinese  temple  standing  in 
a  grassy  lot.  It  looked  solitary  and  rather  un- 
kempt. With  my  driver's  evident  approval,  I  got 
out,  and,  no  one  appearing  to  hinder  me,  passed 
by  two  green  bronze  lions  into  an  empty  court. 
I  sat  down  on  the  steps  to  watch  the  purple  shad- 
ows on  the  floor  grow  denser  and  mount  to  the 
rim  like  the  rising  of  a  tide.  Along  the  gables, 
ladies,  dragons,  and  flower-gardens,  all  of  porce- 
lain, still  glowed  in  the  light;  as  shadows  moved 
across  them  they  seemed  very  much  alive,  poised 
on  the  verge  of  some  stir  or  outcry.  They  were 
magical,  those  porcelain  gardens  full  of  strange 
growths — sea-flower,  earth-flower,  frost-flower. 

And,  Hinbad,  my  troubles  of  the  morning  were 
no  longer  troubles  at  all.  The  bitter  and  sweet 
alike  had  served  their  part,  chemically  distilling 
themselves  into  this  one  potion  of  present  beauty, 
which,  curiously  enough,  would  have  been  incom- 
plete without  them. 

"You  are  scarcely  the  first  to  notice  this  phe- 
nomenon," you  say. 


120  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"I  know  it,  Hinbad, "  I  humbly  reply. 

This  morning  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  searched  my 
guide-book  for  information  about  the  soeltan's 
palace.  In  doing  so  I  came  across,  such  outcrop- 
pings  as  these:  "No  one  acquainted  with  Indian 
manners  would  dream  of  appearing  at  breakfast 
in  the  dress  in  which  he  passed  the  night."  Or 
again :  * '  The  traveler  need  not  fear  the  volcanos 
of  Java,  for  it  is  seldom  they  erupt  without  warn- 
ing." And:  "The  native  boy,  owing  to  pecul- 
iarities of  his  race,  is  invariably  prompt,  quiet, 
and  polite."  Then  follow  the  lists  of  the  mini- 
mum outfit  for  ladies  and  the  minimum  outfit  for 
gentlemen,  in  which  every  conceivable  article  of 
apparel  is  enumerated,  such  as  '  *  sleeping  trousers 
— checked"  and  "much  eau-de-cologne  and  hair 
tonic."  I  was  struck  by  the  thoroughness  of  this 
people,  who  in  every-day  life  as  well  as  in  art 
leave  so  little  to  the  imagination,  and  who  com- 
bine with  this  so  unexpected  a  levity. 

However,  to  return  to  the  soeltan's  palace. 
After  a  brief  description  of  the  gilded  pendoppo 
come  these  words:  "It  need  hardly  be  added 
that  not  every  tourist  can  expect  to  be  re- 
ceived in  audience."  This  is  depressing,  but  it 
failed  to  convince  me  entirely,  so  I  arose  and 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  121 

sought  out  the  clerk  of  the  hotel  office,  who  speaks 
English.  "If  you  really  wish  to  try,"  he  said, 
"go  to  the  secretary  of  the  Resident;  at  any  rate, 
that  makes  a  pleasant  drive.'* 

Therefore  I  took  a  carriage  (pure  display  this 
time)  and  drove  down  the  main  street  through  a 
swarming  market  to  the  Kantoer  Residentie  under 
the  banyan  trees.  Here,  after  a  short  wait  on  the 
porch  along  with  some  native  petitioners,  I  man- 
aged to  send  in  my  card,  and  was  admitted  ahead 
of  them.  The  Secretary  was  a  dark,  slender,  pale 
Dutchman,  if  such  a  combination  can  possibly  be 
imagined,  wearing  pincse-nez  through  which  he 
looked  with  the  curious  velvet  stare  of  the  near- 
sighted. He  motioned  to  a  seat  by  his  desk. 

"Good  morning,"  he  said  pleasantly  in  Eng- 
lish; "did  you  wish  me  to  marry  you!" 

Before  I  could  speak,  he  smiled  and  pointed  to 
a  Javanese  couple  just  going  out.  "I  have  mar- 
ried them,"  he  said,  "and  two  others  already  this 
morning.  It  becomes  a  familiar  question." 

It  seemed  to  me  a  dangerous  question  to  become 
so  familiar  with,  but  I  merely  said  I  had  come  on 
another  matter. 

"I  guess  it,  then,"  he  cried.  "You  wish  to  see 
the  soeltan's  palace,  to  have  an  audience  with  the 
soeltan." 


122  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Well,  chiefly  to  see  the  palace/'  I  said. 

"You  can  not  see  the  palace  without  the  audi- 
ence." 

"Then  I  will  have  the  audience,"  I  admitted. 
"But  I  think  I  really  want  to  see  the  gilded  pen- 
doppo." 

The  Secretary  eyed  me  sadly  through  his  thick 
glasses.  ' '  Dear  young  lady, ' '  he  said, '  *  you  must 
be  an  American. ' ' 

"Why?"  I  demanded. 

"Only  they  would  take  a  long,  unpleasant  voy- 
age to  a  hot  country  to  view  a  gilded  pendoppo." 

"Yet  that  was  not  exclusively  my  reason  for 
leaving  America, ' '  I  assured  him. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  he  answered,  "for  you 
can  not  view  it. ' ' 

"But  why  not!" 

"The  reasons  are  so  numerous,  so  complicated, 
they  involve  deaths,  marriages,  politics,  and  re- 
ligions. ' ' 

"But  I  am  amazed,"  I  cried,  "that  my  visit 
to  the  soeltan  could  create  complications  so  va- 
rious." 

"It  would  not  create  them.  They  were  there 
before — for  I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you.  The 
soeltan' s  son  died  suddenly  not  long  ago.  It  was 
his  only  heir,  and  the  circumstances  distressed 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  123 

him.  It  has  since  then  been  unpleasant  to  him  to 
receive  any  white  person  in  audience.  A  white 
person  is  not  quite  persona  grata." 

My  mind  staggered  under  the  implication  of 
this  tale. 

"But  I  am  a  stranger, "  I  insisted. 

"But  are  you  not  white?' ' 

I  could  not  deny  the  fact.  "So  are  you, 
though,"  I  said.  "Does  he  dislike  you?" 

"Oh,  dear  young  lady,  he  dislikes  chiefly  me. 
Besides  all  this,  it  is  the  month  of  Ramadan, 
which  for  these  people  is  observed  as  a  sacred 
time." 

"I  have  heard  of  it,"  I  said. 

It  is  useless  to  try  to  move  an  official,  and  I 
had  no  money  with  which  to  bribe  one.  I  there- 
fore bowed  politely  and  rose.  The  Secretary 
strode  ahead  of  me  to  the  door  and  opened  it  for 
me.  As  he  shook  hands  he  murmured  that  if  it 
had  been  anything  else  I  should  have  had  it. 
Then  he  added:  "Dear  young  lady,  I  am  sorry 
not  so  much  that  you  can  not  see  the  soeltan  as 
that  the  soeltan  can  not  see  you. ' '  As  this  neces- 
sitated no  reply,  I  withdrew. 

In  my  carriage  a  few  phrases  of  the  guide-book 
again  came  into  my  head.  I  reflected  that  this 
man  also  combined  levity  with  the  inability  to 


124  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

leave  anything  to  the  imagination,  which  easily 
becomes  facetiousness,  Hinbad. 

I  wish  I  knew  just  how  to  present  the  kraton 
to  you  in  the  way  in  which  it  took  hold  on  my 
imagination.  It  is  a  royal  palace,  of  course,  and 
yet  more  than  a  royal  palace.  Not  only  is  the 
actual  residence  of  the  soeltan  there,  with  the 
stables,  gardens,  and  houses  of  his  wives,  but  all 
around  this  walled  inner  palace  is  another  inclo- 
sure,  bounded  by  a  great  wall  more  than  four 
miles  in  circumference,  inside  which  are  packed 
fifteen  thousand  natives  belonging  to  the  retinue 
of  the  court,  such  as  dancers,  nobles,  mas- 
ter artisans,  makers  of  sarongs,  goldsmiths,  and 
kris-makers.  It  was  a  feudal  stronghold;  now  it 
is  the  effigy  of  one,  for  the  ancient  kingdom  of 
Mataram  is  no  more,  and  since  the  splendid  but 
vain  rebellion  of  Dipo  Negoro  the  'kraton  has 
been  the  soeltan's  prison  rather  than  his  pal- 
ace. He  may  not  leave  it  without  the  permis- 
sion and  presence  of  the  Resident;  but,  judging 
from  my  glimpse  of  the  Resident's  secretary,  I 
am  not  surprised  that  he  prefers  to  remain  in. 

However,  having  ascertained  that  no  power  on 
earth  could  prevent  my  entering  the  outer  bra- 
ton,  I  passed  about  three  o'clock  this  afternoon 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  125 

into  the  cdoen  aloen,  a  dusty  square  in  the  center 
of  which  stand  sacred  waringin  trees  behind 
marble  railings.  I  made  the  rounds  of  the  square 
to  see  elephants,  painted  in  fading  reds,  teth- 
ered to  teak  poles,  and  several  lean  tigers  drows- 
ing in  their  cages.  A  constant  stream  of  natives 
crossed  and  recrossed,  following  the  threads  of 
that  life  which  to  me  weaves  so  mysterious  a  pat- 
tern. Here  came  a  man  who  carried  long-tailed 
cocks  in  baskets  swung  from  his  shoulders ;  there 
went  three  gentlemen  with  rays  striking  from  the 
burnished  hilts  of  the  krises  against  their  backs ; 
a  little  lady  minced  past  under  an  umbrella  that 
a  servant  held  over  her.  I  could  not  decide  which 
one  to  follow  down  the  multitudinous  lanes  and 
byways. 

Finally  I  crossed  to  the  densest  of  the  lanes, 
and  found  myself  among  shops  of  goldsmiths — 
toekang  mas — who  hammered  and  chiseled  soft 
gold  into  hair  brooches,  necklaces,  and  earrings. 
Farther  on  I  came  to  a  small  market,  and  farther 
still,  under  a  deep  veranda,  some  girls  were 
spreading  wax  from  small  cones  on  sarong  cloths 
stretched  before  them  on  frames.  This  is  the 
famed  batik  work,  in  which  the  cloth  is  dipped 
many  times  into  precious  dyes,  the  rest  of  the  pat- 
tern shielded  the  while  by  the  wax  coating.  A  girl 


126  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

sitting  near  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  half  in  the 
sunlight,  half  in  the  shadow,  held  up  a  partly  fin- 
ished cloth  for  me  to  see.  Her  black  hair  hung 
down  to  the  floor,  and  a  dark-blue  sarong  was 
drawn  under  her  bare  arms.  Her  movement  as 
she  lifted  it  haunted  me  with  the  memory  of  some 
similar  gesture  to  which  a  special  significance 
was  attached,  but  as  I  walked  away  it  occurred 
to  me  that,  accustomed  as  I  was  to  our  own 
clothed  and  cramped  bodies,  a  lovely  gesture  was 
so  rare  that  it  inevitably  suggested  dances  and 
paintings  with  their  more  tangible  significance. 

So  I  wandered  on,  coming  to  canals,  gardens, 
Bhops,  and  small  markets.  The  whole  place 
seemed  to  rest  on  no  possible  reality.  It  gave, 
indeed,  such  a  transitory  effect  that  I  felt  as  if 
at  a  given  hour,  perhaps  that  of  the  crimson  sun- 
set, it  would  all  tumble  to  the  ground,  and  if  I 
should  come  here  to-morrow  and  find  lizards  sun- 
ning themselves  and  tigers  roaming  its  alleyways, 
I  should  not  be  surprised. 

But,  after  all,  Hinbad,  this  was  the  mere  shell ; 
the  core  of  the  place,  the  gilded  pendoppo  of  my 
dreams,  I  was  never  to  see.  This  fact  suddenly 
obtruded  itself,  and  induced  such  an  extreme  mel- 
ancholy that  I  leaned  against  a  little  bridge  where 
I  happened  to  be  standing  and  shut  my  eyes  for  a 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  127 

moment.  I  reflected  that  I  was  even  debarred 
from  looking  at  the  exterior  wall,  for  in  spite  of 
my  wanderings  I  had  not  yet  come  on  it,  and  there 
was  none  to  ask  the  way  of  except  Javanese  and 
an  occasional  Dutchman  who  probably  spoke  no 
English.  And  it  was  just  at  this  moment  that  I 
become  aware  of  the  gold  umbrella. 

From  the  shop  opposite  emerged  a  benign  el- 
derly Javanese  wearing  a  military  cap  over  his 
batik  turban  and  leaning  heavily  on  a  cane.  Be- 
hind him  a  shopkeeper  protested  obsequiously 
after  the  manner  of  his  kind,  but  with  rather  more 
servility  than  was  usual.  The  man  dismissed  him 
by  a  stately  wave  of  his  hand,  which  the  shop- 
keeper immediately  seized  and,  holding  it  firmly, 
bent  forward  and  sniffed!  At  this  point  my  eyes 
opened  far  enough  to  take  in  the  presence  of  the 
gold  umbrella,  which  was  held  behind  the  head  of 
the  gentleman  by  a  servant.  Now,  a  gold  um- 
brella, Hinbad,  is  the  badge  of  the  soeltan's  serv- 
ice: whatsoever  is  his  is  carried  under  it,  from 
his  dancers  to  his  betel-boxes.  It  symbolizes  his 
divine  personality.  It — 

"My  little  Sinbad,  my  Marco  Polo,"  you  inter- 
rupt me  satirically,  * '  are  you  indeed  about  to  tell 
me  that  the  benign  elderly  gentleman  was  the 
soeltan?" 


128  LETTEKS  TO  A  DJINN 

No,  Hinbad.  Though  you  have  spoiled  my 
story  by  raising  such  expectations,  I  will  not  try 
to  tell  you  that.  If  you  think  over  all  I  have  said, 
you  will  see  it  could  not  be,  and  I  am  well  aware 
that  if  I  would  establish  a  reputation  for  truth- 
fulness I  must  adhere  strictly  to  probability. 

But,  as  I  was  saying  when  you  so  tryingly 
interrupted  me,  the  elderly  gentleman  passed  be- 
fore me  and  climbed  into  a  carriage  that  waited. 
Behind  him  perched  the  umbrella  bearer,  footman 
fashion.  The  horses  started  forward  and  were 
off.  Then  what  do  you  suppose  I  did,  Hinbad  I 

"Why,  then  you  leaned  against  the  bridge,  I 
suppose,  and  returned  to  your  unspeakable  mel- 
ancholy. ' ' 

How  can  you  imagine  such  inertia,  Hinbad! 
On  the  contrary,  I  ran  as  fast  as  I  could  after 
them. 

"But  why?" 

Don't  you  see  that  the  man  was  a  noble  and 
that  probably  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  inner 
palace?  If  I  followed  them  I  had  a  chance  at 
least  of  looking  at  the  gate,  or  perhaps  catching  a 
glimpse  as  he  went  through. 

"Glorious  opportunity!  And  no  doubt  it  was 
hot  running. " 

Indeed  it  was,  and,  though  it  was  near  the 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  129 

end  of  a  tropic  afternoon,  I  felt  such  pounding 
in  my  arteries  that  I  almost  feared  I  was  injur- 
ing myself.  The  dust  from  the  wheels  was  so 
dense  that  I  don't  believe  the  people  caught  much 
more  than  a  startled  glimpse  of  me  as  I  passed. 
Fortunately,  the  chase  was  short.  The  carriage 
stopped  in  a  little  square  before  a  great  white 
gate.  The  gold  umbrella  bearer  hopped  off  and 
crouched  at  the  steps.  When  my  elderly  noble 
alighted,  his  eye  at  once  fell  on  me,  flushed,  dis- 
heveled and  panting,  and  it  opened  wide  in  mild 
astonishment.  Then  he  smiled,  bowed  courte- 
ously, and  asked  me  some  question  in  Dutch.  I 
replied  that  unfortunately  I  spoke  no  Dutch.  He 
shook  his  head;  he  did  not  understand  me;  but 
he  further  questioned  me  as  to  what  I  wanted. 
I  said  that  I  wished  to  see  the  dalem.  He  re- 
peated dalem  after  me  and  pointed  to  the  gate.  I 
nodded  eagerly.  He  shook  his  head  again  with 
emphasis.  At  my  crestfallen  appearance  he 
smiled  kindly  and  vouchsafed  me  some  kind  of  ex- 
planation. Then  he  bowed  and  moved  off,  but  as 
he  neared  the  gate  he  turned  suddenly  and  came 
back.  He  motioned  me  to  follow  him,  and  pointed 
to  a  spot  near  the  gate  where  he  wished  me  to 
stand.  Then,  bowing  again,  he  passed  inside. 
My  eyes  followed  him,  but  caught  only  a  fleet- 


130  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

ing  glimpse  of  trees  and  shrubs.  I  looked  around, 
and  saw  that  the  square  was  empty  but  for  his 
servants,  who  were  already  asleep  by  the  car- 
riage, and  two  men  who  sat  motionless  in  the 
shade  of  an  open  pavilion,  watching  me  intently. 
I  waited.  Presently  another  carriage  drew  up 
which  likewise  boasted  a  gold  umbrella.  A  man 
descended  dressed  like  my  nobleman,  followed  by 
his  wife,  whose  smooth  black  head  was  frosted 
with  diamonds.  Next  came  a  nurse  carrying  a 
small  pale-gold  baby,  and,  to  my  amusement, 
I  perceived  that  the  man  who  strode  along  with 
his  fierce  Malay  carriage,  his  gold  cane  in  one 
hand,  carried  also  a  glass  nursing-bottle  in  the 
other. 

They  passed  behind  the  gate.  Their  driver 
promptly  went  to  sleep  in  his  seat,  while  their  two 
servants  strayed  over  to  the  men  under  the  pa- 
vilion, who  began  to  tell  them  with  gestures  all 
about  me  and  how  I  got  there.  Then  all  four 
relapsed  into  immobility  and  silence,  that  they 
might  the  more  effectively  stare  at  me. 

Long  shadows  spread  over  the  square.  The 
air  began  to  grow  purple.  I  had  no  idea  how 
I  should  find  my  way  out  of  this  labyrinth,  so  I 
stood  and  waited  for  the  return  of  the  kind  noble- 
man. Over  the  top  of  the  wall  the  crests  of  trees 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  131 

began  to  ruffle  slightly  in  an  evening  wind.  What 
would  I  not  have  given  to  see  what  lurked  behind 
and  beneath  them!  I  thought  once  I  heard  the 
far-off  sound  of  a  reed  instrument. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  fifteen  or  twenty 
tiny  children  flew  out  like  a  flock  of  blazoned  but- 
terflies. They  swarmed  over  the  square,  laugh- 
ing, calling  to  each  other,  running  hither  and  yon. 
They  were  dressed  in  batik  sarongs  and  little 
silk  kabajas;  some  of  the  girls  had  their  faces 
strangely  whitened  with  a  sort  of  liquid  powder. 
Presently  came  an  old  woman  in  hot  pursuit,  call- 
ing after  them  and  waving  her  arms.  They 
played  all  sorts  of  pranks  to  elude  her — pulled 
her  skirts  from  behind,  jumped  leap-frog  under 
her  very  nose,  while  some  of  them  ran  behind  me 
for  shelter.  But  at  last  she  shooed  them  in,  to 
my  great  regret,  and  the  gate  closed  on  them.  I 
heard  their  muffled  laughter  for  a  moment  on  the 
other  side. 

Again  I  waited.  The  four  men  in  the  pavilion 
stared  at  me  and  began  to  beckon  the  servants 
of  my  old  nobleman  to  come  over  and  join  them  in 
their  vigil.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  they  were  to 
miss  anything.  I  had  about  determined  to  try 
to  find  my  way  back  alone,  when  the  gate  opened 
and  my  old  nobleman  came  out. 


132  LETTERS  TO  'A  DJINN 

"Here  you  are ! "  I  exclaimed.  ' 'I  thought  you 
were  never  coming ! ' ' 

He  perfectly  understood  me,  for  his  tone  was 
reassuring,  not  to  say  apologetic.  As  he 
walked  beside  me  my  foot  struck  something  hard 
in  the  dust  which  gave  out  a  faint  metallic  vi- 
bration. I  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  When  I 
had  blown  the  dust  from  it,  I  saw  that  it  was  a 
large  gold  brooch,  which,  judging  by  the  prong  at- 
tached, was  meant  to  be  worn  in  coils  of  black 
hair.  It  was  in  the  form  of  a  conventionalized 
flower  spray  crusted  with  small  diamonds.  The 
chiseling  of  it  was  exquisite,  and  so  pure  was  the 
gold  that  it  nearly  bent  in  my  fingers.  I  held  it 
out  in  astonishment  to  my  elderly  nobleman. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this!"  I  exclaimed. 
"One  of  the  children  must  have  dropped  it,  or 
more  likely  the  lady  who  passed." 

He  looked  at  it  closely  and  returned  it  to  me. 

"But  you  keep  it,"  I  said;  "you  can  find  the 
owner. ' ' 

He  gave  me  reasons  for  not  doing  so,  and  smil- 
ingly indicated  that  I  keep  it.  I  began  to  protest. 
He  pointed  with  one  finger  to  a  spiral  that  he 
considered  particularly  fine,  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  noticed  that. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  133 

"Yes,  it  is  beautiful,"  I  said;  "but  it  does 
not  belong  to  me." 

He  went  on  explaining  and  smiling.  Just  then 
I  happened  to  glance  at  the  men  under  the  pa- 
vilion. I  suppose  it  was  really  their  concentra- 
tion that  disturbed  me,  for  they  sat  with  every 
muscle  tense  and  eyes  bulging.  That  they  had 
looked  so  hard  and  so  long  at  me,  only  to  miss  this 
prize,  was  a  bitter  blow.  I  could  not  resist  smil- 
ing at  them.  When  we  reached  the  carriage,  the 
old  gentleman  invited  me  with  a  gesture  to  get 
in.  I  did  so,  and  he  climbed  in  beside  me;  the 
gold  umbrella  man  jumped  up  behind,  and  we 
were  off. 

I  continued  to  argue  on  the  subject  of  the 
brooch,  which  appeared  to  amaze  him  greatly. 
He  pointed  to  his  turbaned  head  and  laughed  as 
if  to  show  me  that  he  himself  could  never  wear 
such  an  ornament.  Then  he  asked  a  question  in 
which  I  thought  I  detected  a  word  resembling 
"English,"  so  I  replied,  "No,  American."  He 
waved  his  arm  over  the  kraton,  which  I  told  him 
I  found  very  beautiful,  and  in  this  wise  we  carried 
on  the  pleasantest  conversation  till  we  turned  into 
the  aloen  aloen  near  the  north  gate  of  the  kraton, 
by  which  I  had  entered.  The  carriage  stopped 


134  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

here  and  I  got  out.  I  bowed  many  times  and 
said  " Thank  you"  over  and  over  again.  He 
bowed  and  evidently  told  me  that  the  pleasure 
had  been  all  his.  I  said,  "For  the  last  time,  let 
me  ask  you  to  return  this  to  the  owner. ' '  For  the 
last  time,  he  shook  his  head.  Evidently  findings 
are  keepings  in  the  Orient.  We  waved  good- 
by  and  he  drove  off. 

It  was  quite  dark  now,  and  as  I  walked  I  pres- 
ently found  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  procession, 
carrying  flares  and  torches,  which  fairly  jostled 
me  from  my  path.  I  saw  that  they  were  dancers 
and  players  with  attendants  carrying  musical  in- 
struments, gilt  helmets,  rouge  and  powder-pots; 
but,  in  spite  of  their  gay  appearance,  they  moved 
along  with  the  gravest  of  demeanors.  At  the 
hotel  they  turned  in  as  I  did.  Stumbling  around 
in  the  dark  of  my  pavilion,  I  heard  their  bells 
and  stringed  instruments  tuning  up,  or  perhaps 
playing  in  earnest,  for  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
tell  the  difference. 

I  dressed  for  dinner,  and  in  my  hair  arranged 
coquettishly  the  diamond  brooch.  In  Java  one 
does  not  dine  till  eight  or  after,  but  between  six 
and  eight  is  the  social  hour  of  the  day.  On  the 
veranda  the  performance  had  begun.  Dancers 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  135 

were  waving  their  hands  and  flirting  their  scarfs 
in  stiff  poses.  They  advanced  and  retreated,  all 
according  to  such  established  and  rigidly  -conven- 
tionalized tradition  that  it  was  difficult  to  tell 
which  dancer  possessed  talent  and  which  did  not. 

I  had  seated  myself  comfortably  in  a  wicker 
chair  to  watch  them,  when  I  heard  a  voice  at  my 
elbow  asking  if  I  enjoyed  the  dance.  It  was  the 
Secretary  of  the  Resident,  whose  existence  I  had 
forgotten.  The  sight  of  this  gentleman  irritated 
me,  and  yet  by  some  unreasonable  twist  I  felt  I 
had  circumvented  him  in  the  matter  of  the  kra- 
ton.  After  all,  my  own  experience  began  to  loom 
up  as  more  interesting  than  anything  he  could 
possibly  have  helped  me  to. 

"Do  you  care  for  this  dancing?"  he  asked, 
looking  blankly  out  of  his  curious-  near-sighted 
eyes. 

"Of  course  it  is  not  so  fine  as  the  soeltan's 
dancers,"  I  replied. 

"Dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "do  not  torment 
yourself  with  what  is  unattainable." 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Unattainable!"1 
I  exclaimed. 

"You  are  so  young,  dear  lady,  that  I  see  you 
still  hope." 


136  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Hope  with  me,  kind  old  sir,  is  always  followed 
by  attainment.  This  morning  I  hoped,  but  this 
evening  I  am  satisfied." 

His  eyes  opened.  "You  have  succeeded  else- 
where? But  that  is  not  possible.  Tell  me  about 
it." 

He  drew  up  his  chair,  and  I  replied:  "It  is 
so  complicated,  it  would  involve  espionage,  flight, 
intrigue,  and  a  hold-up. ' ' 

1 '  What  is  this  '  hold-up '  f "  he  demanded.  ' « You 
are  joking  me." 

"I  never  joke  with  high  officials,"  I  said,  "as 
I  have  not  heretofore  found  their  sense  of  humor 
equal  to  the  strain. ' ' 

I  turned  again  to  look  at  the  dancers,  who  were 
now  engaged  in  a  dark  drama,  wherein  a  man 
painted  as  a  monkey  grimaced  and  threat- 
ened, and  two  tiny  boys  appeared,  one  a  hero 
with  martial  attitudes  and  the  other  a  clown  with 
a  black  mustache  painted  across  his  chubby  face. 
The  music  chimed  and  vibrated.  A  crowd  of  na- 
tives had  gathered  at  the  edge  of  the  veranda, 
added  to  by  constant  arrivals  from  the  street, 
who  became  so  clamorous  with  their  approval 
that  they  had  to  be  admonished  by  frequent  ex- 
clamations of  "Diam,  diam!  [Silence] "  from  the 
Secretary. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  137 

"You  were  telling  me,"  he  said,  " about  your 
visit  to  the  dcdem.  It  has  occurred  to  me  that 
you  must  have  been  bribing  some  one." 

" Would  that  annoy  you!"  I  asked. 

"It  would  annoy  me  that  you  did  not  begin 
with  me." 

"But  surely  it  is  not  customary  for  the  briber 
to  receive  the  gifts,"  I  said,  raising  my  hand  to 
my  hair. 

The  Secretary  leaned  forward  to  look,  and  his 
near-sighted  eyes  dilated  at  the  sight  of  the 
brooch.  "But  you  confuse  me!"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  intend  to  do  so,"  I  assured  him. 

Two  figures  emerged  from  the  dark  on  to  the 
veranda  and  stopped  short  in  front  of  us.  They 
were  the  Professor  and  the  Explorer.  I  was 
amazed  to  see  them  here  so  soon,  and  suddenly 
so  unaccountably  glad  of  their  return  that  I  could 
feel  the  blood  mounting  to  my  forehead. 

'  *  Oh,  here  you  are, ' '  said  the  Professor  crossly, 
and  as  I  presented  them  to  the  Secretary  he  mut- 
tered something  unintelligible. 

They  sat  down,  and  I  looked  them  over  eagerly 
like  long-lost  friends.  The  Explorer  was  tran- 
quil and  scrupulously  elegant.  He  carried  a 
lighter  cane  now,  such  as  any  gentleman  might 
carry  without  expecting  to  lean  upon  it.  I  saw 


138  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  trip  had  at  least  done  that  much  for  him.  But 
the  Professor  was  hot  and  ruffled  and  untidy. 
He  fanned  himself  with  a  strangely  battered 
topee  of  gray,  which,  he  explained  with  some 
annoyance,  he  had  accidentally  picked  up  instead 
of  his  own  in  getting  off  the  train. 

"You  caught  up  with  me  earlier  than  I  ex- 
pected," I  exclaimed.  "Was  the  trip  not  a  suc- 
cess?" 

"Evidently  not,"  growled  the  Professor;  "evi- 
dently not.  We  got  to  Tosari  right  enough  last 
night.  There  is  an  actual  sanatorium  there,  with 
cold  mountain  water  and  heliotrope  in  the  gar- 
den. What  a  delicious  spot!  And  the  volcano  a 
day's  journey  beyond.  I  could  have  spent  all 
my  time  in  Java  there  with  no  trouble  at  all." 

He  fanned  himself  violently  with  the  topee. 

"But  what  happened?"  I  persisted. 

"Well,  we  start  for  the  Bromo  on  horseback 
just  at  daybreak,  and  in  about  two  hours  we  reach 
the  Moenggal  Pass.  Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  has 
been  feeling  seedy  on  the  way,  suddenly  decides 
she  can  not  stand  the  trip,  so  we  get  a  palanquin 
and  are  about  to  send  her  back,  when  what  must 
Endicott  do?  What?  Go  with  her,  of  course. 
He  does  not  wish  to  see  the  volcano,  after  all. 
He  abandons  science;  he  is  bereft  of  all  human 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  139 

intelligence  and  reason.  He  will  return  with  Miss 
Hale-Hale,  whose  condition  is  really  not  in  the 
least  alarming.  Moreover,  he  will  take  her  from* 
Tosari,  which  is  cool  and  has  a  sanatorium,  to 
Djokja,  which  is  hot,  and  has  none.  Why! 
Because  he  thinks  she  ought  to  be  where  you  can 
look  after  her.  I  tell  you,  she  is  not  ill;  but  he, 
on  the  other  hand,  has  lost  his  reason." 

"You  could  have  stayed,"  the  Explorer  re- 
minded him. 

"My  dear  chap,  did  you  think  I  would  actually 
let  you  roam  over  Java  alone  in  that  demented  con- 
dition!" 

"You  are  all  very  solicitous  for  one  another," 
I  said,  smiling. 

But,  Hinbad,  during  this  narration  my  heart  had 
jumped  so  violently  that  I  feared  some  one  would 
hear  it. 

"After  all,"  said  the  Secretary,  much  bored  by 
this  turn  of  affairs,  "there  was  very  little  to  see 
there  at  the  Bromo." 

"Little  to  see!"  roared  the  Professor,  "Three 
volcanos  little  to  see !  Have  you  no  sense  of  pro- 
portion, sir?  or  what  would  you  consider  a  worth- 
while spectacle  ? ' ' 

"Sir,"  said  the  Secretary,  growing  more  bored, 
"you  have  dropped  your  very  curious  hat." 


140  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

' '  So  I  have ! ' '  the  Professor  roared.  ' '  My  very 
curious  hat !  Only  it  happens,  in  point  of  fact,  to 
be  the  very  curious  hat  of  a  countryman  of  yours. ' ' 
He  picked  it  up  as  he  spoke.  *  *  In  my  country  only 
a  man  above  reproach  or  one  totally  outlawed 
would  dare  wear  such  a  hat."  He  jammed  it  on 
his  head.  "And  I  leave  you  to  surmise  which  I 
am."  He  rose  and,  walking  to  the  edge  of  the 
veranda,  shouted  loudly,  "Jonges!" 

As  he  gave  his  attentions  to  the  ordering  of 
lemon  squash  the  Secretary  leaned  toward  me  and 
said:  "He  speaks  loud,  yet  is  it  difficult  to  under- 
stand him.  He  speaks  from  his  stomach. ' ' 

' '  Certainly  not  from  the  head, ' '  I  replied. 

But  I  was  feeling  most  unaccountably  elated.  I 
was  glad  they  had  come — glad  because  of  what  I 
thought  had  brought  them,  glad  even  to  have  the 
Secretary  here  to  tease. 

"Just  guess  where  I  have  been  this  afternoon," 
I  said  mysteriously  to  the  Explorer. 

"Where! "he  asked. 

"To  the  kraton,"  I  replied;  "to  the  castle  of 
the  soeltan  of  Djokjakarta;  and,  what  is  far  more, 
I  have  gazed  on  the  dalem,  the  inner  palace. ' ' 

"But  how  did  you  manage  that?" 

The  Secretary  was  watching  me,  and  his  mystifi- 
cation spurred  me  on. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  141 

"Nothing  easier,"  I  said;  "it  is  sufficient  to 
have  the  permission  of  the  kind  Secretary  here." 

"That  was  very  nice  of  the  Secretary,"  said  the 
Explorer,  but  curiously  without  enthusiasm.  "I 
should  like  to  see  it  myself. ' ' 

The  sudden  notion  of  doing  something  to  give 
him  pleasure  and  at  the  same  time  of  outwitting 
the  Secretary  occurred  to*  me. 

"You  shall  see  it!"  I  cried.  "This  gentleman 
will  be  only  too  glad  to  override  all  the  complica- 
tions that  stand  in  the  way.  For  he  could  not  do 
less  for  you  than  he  already  has  for  me." 

"But,"  protested  the  bewildered  gentleman,  "I 
have  so  many  times  said  it  was  impossible." 

"Of  course  you  have,  and  that  makes  us 
appreciate  your  kindness  all  the  more.  It  is  im- 
possible without  your  permission.  Therefore  one 
who  has  seen  it  has  had  your  permission.  You 
would  not  dream  of  contradicting  this.  For 
instance,  it  would  be  too  humiliating  to  you  to 
pretend  that  I  saw  the  dcdem  this  afternoon 
without  your  official  consent.  That  would  be 
almost  a  scandal.  Of  course  you  gave  me  per- 
mission. " 

The  Secretary  stared,  and  I  let  him  have  a 
moment  to  take  this  in  before  going  on:  "You 
could  not  refuse  to  do  for  these  gentlemen,  and 


142  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  lady  who  is  with  them,  what  you  have  already 
done  for  me. '  ' 

He  smiled  and  made  a  slight  gesture  of 
surrender. 

"How  good  you  are!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  was 
sure  you  would  do  anything  to  please  us.  Besides, 
that  is  the  first  duty  of  an  official  always. ' ' 

"Dear  young  lady,"  cried  the  Secretary,  rising 
and  leaning  over  my  chair,  "I  go  now  very  hastily 
before,  in  a  fit  of  absent  mind,  I  promise  to  give 
you  the  kraton  to  take  home  with  you.  But  your 
friends  shall  see  the  dalem  to-morrow.  Let  them 
come  to  my  office  at  half -past  ten.  As  for  you,  I 
think,  for  a  little  punishment,  you  must  stay  out 
this  time.  It  is  a  very  serious  offense,  this  cor- 
rupting of  the  state."  He  wagged  one  finger  at 
me.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  a  very  wicked  one,  my 
dear  young  lady." 

When  he  had  gone  I  turned  to  the  Explorer, 
pleased  with  the  power  I  had  just  displayed  to  do 
him  a  kindness.  But  he  was  looking  at  me  rather 
somberly.  I  was  startled  by  his  look.  For  a 
moment  we  did  not  speak ;  then  I  asked  him  where 
Miss  Hale-Hale  was. 

"In  her  pavilion,"  he  answered. 

"Will  you  show  me  which  one?"  I  asked. 

He  rose  without  a  word,  and  we  walked -across 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  143 

the  lawn,  where  the  actors,  who  had  already 
broken  up  their  perfomance,  were  straggling  with 
their  torches  toward  the  street. 

"It  was  very  good  of  you  to  give  up  your  trip 
just  at  the  crucial  moment, ' '  I  said  as  we  walked 
along. 

"I  was  never  very  enthusiastic  about  it,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"No;  I  noticed  you  were  not." 

1 1  You  see, ' '  he  continued, ' '  I  have  been  on  rather 
a  long  jaunt,  and  I  am  now  chiefly  concerned  in 
getting  home  as  fast  as  I  can." 

"Of  course.  And  yet,"  I  persisted,  "it  was 
good  of  you  to  look  after  Miss  Hale-Hale." 

"Oh,  I  like  Miss  Hale-Hale,"  he  said  coldly. 

We  walked  on  in  silence. 

"At  any  rate,"  I  murmured  finally,  "it  is  more 
pleasant  for  me  to  have  you  all  here  than  to  be 
entirely  alone." 

"Oh,  were  you  entirely  alone?"  he  asked,  but 
quite  indifferently,  not  as  a  question,  but  as  a 
half -incredulous  comment. 

I  said  no  more  until  we  came  to  a  dark  pavilion. 
"Is  this  the  one?" 

"Yes;  this  is  it." 

He  sat  down  on  the  steps  while  I  went  inside. 
I  stumbled  over  a  rug  roll  and  sat  down  on  it  in 


144  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  dark.  All  my  elation  had  died.  I  was  so 
overcome  by  depression,  I  could  not  bother  to  get 
up  and  turn  on  the  light. 

''Miss  Hale-Hale,"  I  said  dismally,  "what  is 
the  matter  with  you  ? ' ' 

A  clacking  of  teeth  came  out  of  the  gloom, 
followed  by  a  hoarse  voice:  "Beastly  luck!  I  Ve 
the  fever  and  chills."  She  coughed  spasmod- 
ically. 

I  hastily  rose  and  groped  about  for  the  electric 
light.  Its  brilliance  disclosed  an  unutterable 
state  of  confusion,  baggage  left  wherever  the 
boys  had  dropped  it,  and  poor  Miss  Hale-Hale 
herself  fallen,  travel- stained,  dusty,  and  shivering 
with  ague,  on  the  bed.  My  conscience  smote  me 
because  I  had  neglected  her  so  long.  In  a  stew  of 
repentance,  I  hurried  to  make  her  comfortable, 
which  for  the  time  made  me  forget  my  de- 
spondency. I  rang  for  hot  tea,  undressed  and 
washed  her,  and  combed  out  her  thin,  tangled 
hair.  When  I  tried  to  locate  her  quinine,  she 
told  me  she  had  used  it  all  up,  so  I  called  to  the 
Explorer,  who  went  across  to  his  pavilion  for 
some.  At  last,  with  covers,  hot  tea,  and  hot- 
water  bottles,  I  had  her  perspiring  and  drowsy. 

"You  must  brace  up,  now,"  I  told  her,  "for 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  145 

you  have  an  appointment  to-morrow  with  the 
Soeltan  of  Djokjakarta.'* 

"Have  I?"  she  inquired  listlessly.  "How  did 
that  happen?" 

"He  is  anxious  to  see  you." 

"Really!"  she  murmured,  not  at  all  surprised, 
and  went  off  to  sleep. 

I  stayed  with  her  till  the  dinner-gong  rang.  I 
knew  the  Explorer  was  still  on  the  steps,  for  I  had 
not  heard  him  leave. 

"Mr.  Endicott,"  I  called,  "you  had  better  go 
get  your  dinner.  We  don't  need  you  here." 

"What  will  you  do  for  dinner?"  he  inquired. 

"I  shall  order  it  sent  over  to  my  pavilion,"  I 
said  loftily,  "whenever  I  want  it." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied;  "send  for  me  if  you 
need  me." 

"I  sha'n't  need  you,"  said  I  as  curtly  as  pos- 
sible, and  I  heard  him  go  off. 

Really,  Hinbad,  I  believe  I  must  hate  him,  for 
my  blood  boiled  as  his  footsteps  retreated. 
Why?  Because  he  was  nice  to  me  once?  Be- 
cause he  is  not  nice  to  me  now?  Because  he  went 
to  the  volcano?  Because  he  came  from  the 
volcano?  I  don't  know.  At  any  rate,  I  stayed 
with  Miss  Hale-Hale  until  nine  o'clock,  and,  as  I 


146  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

knew  very  well  they  would  charge  me  extra  for  a 
meal  served  in  my  quarters,  I  went  dinnerless  to 
bed. 

Next  morning  I  found  her  sitting  on  the  edge 
of  her  bed,,  drawing  on  her  stockings  with  trem- 
bling fingers.  She  looked  haggard  and  yellow. 

"I  am  perfectly  fit,"  she  told  me;  "this  is  my 
well  day,  but  I  '11  be  off  again  to-morrow.  Did 
I  hear  you  say  something  about  an  appoint- 
ment I ' ' 

I  could  not  persuade  her  to  remain  in  bed,  so  I 
dressed  her  as  becomingly  as  I  could,  and  gave 
her  more  quinine  as  a  precautionary  measure. 

At  a  little  after  ten  I  heard  a  carriage  roll  up. 
The  Professor  and  the  Explorer  were  in  it. 
They  got  out,  and  helped  Miss  Hale-Hale  down 
the  steps  and  into  the  carriage,  she  protesting 
the  while  that  such  solicitude  was  rubbish.  The 
Professor  climbed  in  beside  her,  but  to  my  amaze- 
ment the  Explorer  did  not  follow. 

"I  am  not  going/'  he  said  with  the  most  un- 
mistakable finality. 

I  was  dumb  with  rage  that  he  should  refuse 
what  was  in  a  sense  my  party,  arranged,  though 
he  did  not  know  it,  especially  for  him!  Miss 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  147 

Hale-Hale  also  exclaimed:    "I  won't  go  either!" 

"But  why!"  I  cried. 

"That  hat,"  she  explained,  pointing  to  the  Pro- 
fessor's gray  topee.  ''In  these  circumstances  it 
is  positively  indelicate." 

"Miss  Hale-Hale!"  roared  the  Professor. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "the  man  is  a  king." 

"Who  is  a.  king?" 

"The  sodtan,"  she  replied.  "I  won't  go 
unless  you  change  it.  It  's  indelicate." 

What  he  or  she  would  have  done  next  I  can  not 
imagine,  had  the  Explorer  not  quickly  removed 
his  own  immaculate  topee  and,  taking  the  Pro- 
fessor's from  his  head,  substituted  it  for  his  own. 
He  then  slapped  the  neares-t  horse  on  the  flank  to 
precipitate  matters,  and  shouted  "Kantoer 
Residentiel"  to  the  driver.  In  a  cloud  of  dust 
they  departed,  and  as  they  turned  the  corner  of 
•the  hotel  compound  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  Miss 
Hale-Hale  Ts  profile,  bearing  a  quite  startling 
resemblance  to  the  contemptuous  profile  of  a 
camel. 

Well  at  any  rate,  they  were  gone,  and  mean- 
time here  I  stood  with  the  Explorer,  who  still 
rather  ruefully  held  in  his  hand  the  battered 
topee  of  the  Professor. 


148  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Would  you  perhaps  like  to  take  a  drive  or 
something?"  he  inquired  with  the  most  courteous 
vagueness. 

1  'I  intend  to  take  a  drive,"  I  said,  and  beckoned 
to  one  of  the  carriages  that  waited  in  the  shade. 
It  came  instantly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  not 
intended  to  take  a  drive  at  all.  I  can  not  in  the 
least  afford  such  luxuries-  But  I  got  in  neverthe- 
less, a  bit  red  in  the  face.  The  Explorer  stood 
watching  me,  quite  expressionless.  "Bonne 
promenade/'  he  said  quietly.  I  thought  this 
extremely  affected  of  him  and,  pretending  not  to 
hear,  said  "Mad joe"  sharply  to  my  driver.  Off 
we  went,  and  presently  passed  under  the  gate  of 
the  kraton. 

I  gave  the  driver  no  directions,  nor  did  I  care 
where  he  took  me.  After  a  time  he  stopped 
somewhere  among  its  obscure  lanes  before  a  long 
moldering  wall  over  which  a  few  palms  showed. 
I  got  out.  From  thatch  hovels  at  the  gate  a  tall 
native  disengaged  himself  and  came  toward  me, 
bowing  to  the  ground.  "Taman  Sari/'  he  said; 
"Taman  Sari."  And  I  knew  the  driver  had 
brought  me  to  the  " water  palace"  of  which  I  had 
read  in  the  guide-books-. 

A  woman  in  a  dark-blue  sarong  fluttered  after 
him,  standing  at  a  little  distance  to  watch  me  withf 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  149 

unnaturally  brilliant  eyes.  When  the  man  ex- 
plained in  fluent  Malay  his  qualifications  as  a 
guide,  she  laughed  childishly  and,  as  I  brushed 
past  him,  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  petulant  dis- 
dain of  his  efforts.  But  he  dogged  my  footsteps, 
and  at  the  moment  when  I  stood  undecided  under 
a  grassy  arch,  he  was  there,  all  smiles  and 
gestures,  to  show  me  the  way.  So,  giving  up,  I 
followed  him,  and  the  little  woman  in  the  blue 
sarong  was  emboldened  to  come  near,  retreating 
a  little  way  at  any  sudden  movement  of  mine. 

At  first  the  place  seemed  but  a  long-neglected 
garden  till  gradually  outlines  of  walls  and  arches 
began  to  rise  from  the  overgrowing  plants. 
Ahead  I  breathed  the  freshness  of  water,  and  as 
I  came  out  on  the  great  central  tank  the  name  and 
charm  of  the  place  became  clear  to  me.  It  had 
been  a  palace  in  a  garden,  or  a  garden  in  a  palace, 
it  was  now  hard  to  tell  which,  not  very  large,  not 
in  the  purest  style,  but  with  water  everywhere. 
Water  ran  in  deep-cut  channels,  spread  film- 
like  over  floors  for  the  cooling  of  royal  feet,  or 
widened  into  tanks  like  that  on  whose  margin  I 
stood. 

I  heard  a  muffled  step  in  the  thick  grass,  and 
from  under  a  viny  archway  the  Explorer  ap- 
peared. He  looked  too  startled  for  me  to  cherish 


150  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

even  the  momentary  illusion  of  his  having 
followed  me. 

*  'Hello ! "  he  exclaimed.  *  *  So  they  brought  you 
here  too.  It  must  be  quite  the  correct  place  to 
bring  one." 

"It  is  one  of  the  show  places/'  I  replied. 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  it  is  very  jolly.  I  can  for- 
give them  for  it." 

He  wore  no  topee  and  his  face  was  flushed.  We 
sat  down  to  rest  on  a  piece  of  masonry,  he  first 
spreading  out  a  handkerchief  for  me  to  sit  on. 
If  I  had  thought  he  had  actually  followed  me,  my 
temper  might  have  improved,  but  it  was  too 
obvious  that  he  had  not. 

"I  suppose  this  is  the  water  palace,"  he  ob- 
served calmly.  "It  must  have  been  a  delicious 
retreat  in  its  day.  Some  king  owned  it,  of 
course." 

' '  Some  prince  of  Mataram, ' '  I  replied  pedanti- 
cally, proud  to  air  my  knowledge. 

"Well,  no  doubt  he  was  beastly  enough.  I  be- 
lieve I  have  heard  unpleasant  little  rumors  of 
ladies  thrown  to  tigers,  and  rebels  krised  against 
the  walls." 

We  looked  out  on  the  half-empty  stagnant  tank 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  said:  "By  Jove,  this 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  151 

place  was  worthy  of  something  better.  Imagine 
it  with  water  lying  in  every  tank,  flowing  in  every 
channel.  It  must  have  been  a  paradise  of  endless 
reflections  and  mirrorings,  of  melodions  stirrings, 
of  shinings  in  dark  places,  and  coolness  in  the 
heat." 

This  burst  of  poetry  left  me  silent. 

"It  ought  to  have  sheltered  at  least  one  pair 
of  royal  lovers  worthy  of  the  name." 

"Dushyanta  and  Shakuntala,"  said  I.  I 
seemed  quite  unavoidably  determined  to  air 
knowledge  this  morning. 

"How  long  ago  did  they  live?"  he  inquired. 
"Their  chronicler  died  about  900  A. D.,  didn't 
he?" 

"Oh,  they  lived  thousands  of  years  ago,"  I 
replied  somewhat  vaguely. 

"I  thought  so." 

"Why!" 

"Such  things  are  impossible  nowadays." 

"What  things?" 

"Why,  great  lovers!  Dushyantas  and  Sha- 
kuntalas.  Hectors  and  Andromaches,  Geraints 
and  Enids — the  real  Geraint,  of  course,  not 
Tennyson's.  Oh,  scores  more  of  them!  I  tell 
you,  they  are  impossible  nowadays." 


152  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Nonsense!"  said  I  hotly,  yet  not  entirely 
willing  to  press  the  point.  "Besides,  all  these 
people  you  name  are  imaginary." 

"Not  so  imaginary  as  all  that,"  he  declared 
combatively.  "Do  you  suppose  poets  are  in- 
capable of  reflecting  the  conditions  and  ideals 
that  they  themselves  grow  out  of?  Do  you  think 
they  are  fit  only  to  write  of  El  Dorados  and  hippo- 
griffs?  I  tell  you,  there  were  such  people,  and 
the  poets  saw  them.  The  proof  that  they  existed 
then  is  that  they  were  written  about.  The  proof 
that  they  don't  exist  now  is  that  we  have  no 
Iliads,  no  Shakuntalas,  no  Mabinogion." 

"I  deny  everything  you  say.  Perhaps  I  my- 
self will  write  one,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
these  great  lovers  of  yours  should  not  exist  to- 
day." 

"I  could  name  you  a  thousand  reasons,"  he  re- 
plied, "and  the  first  of  them  would  be  the  self- 
consciousness  of  the  modern  civilized  man  and 
woman:  consciousness  about  the  little  bit  we 
know,  over  so  vast  an  area  of  subjects,  conscious- 
ness of  what  is  to  our  own  immediate  petty 
interest,  consciousness  about  what  we  feel  our- 
selves and  consciousness  about  what  people  feel 
about  us,  and  so  on." 

"Perhaps  science  is  one  of  the  thousand." 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  153 

"No,"  he  cried  emphatically.  "I  was  never  so 
steeped  in  scientific  interest  as  in  Papua.  Yet 
when  I  came  out  of  Papua  I  was  never  so  free  of 
all  these  modern  fetters  of  self-consciousness. 
For  the  time  being  I  was  another  man." 

I  dug  up  a  red  passion-vine  by  the  roots,  looked 
at  it  closely,  and  carefully  placed  it  again,  patting 
down  the  earth. 

"Well,  what  are  you  now?"  I  asked. 

He  sighed  and  rose  to  his  feet.  "Oh,  I  am 
half-way  back,"  he  said.  "Let  us  look  at  the  rest 
of  Dushyanta's  palace." 

The  woman  in  the  blue  sarong  crept  closer  and 
said  gentle  Malay  words  to  us  in  wheedling  tones. 
There  was  a  disquieting  furtiveness  about  her, 
as  if  she  were  whispering  the  kind  of  thing  one 
does  not  dare  say  aloud.  I  stopped  to  pick  a  red 
passion-flower  from  a  crumbling  stair  leading  to 
the  top  of  the  large  two-storied  halls,  and  she, 
bending  quickly,  picked  one  from  the  same  vine. 
When  I  put  it  in  my  belt,  she  tucked  hers  into  her 
sarong.  I  smiled  at  her  vaguely.  She  came 
close  to  me  and  touched  my  arm  with  the  tip  of 
her  finger. 

"Balcmda,"  she  murmured,  and,  pointing  to  her 
own  brown  arm,  repeated  coaxingly:  "Balandaf 
Balanda?" 


154  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"I  say,"  exclaimed  the  Explorer  with  sudden 
comprehension.  "She  is  trying  to  tell  you  that 
she  is  white  also,  as  you  are." 

"I  wonder  why?"  I  asked,  but  could  not  find 
a  suitable  answer. 

We  stood  on  the  rim  of  the  great  roofless  halls, 
where  the  sun  streamed  in,  lighting  the  grotesque 
figures  of  one  wall  and  piles  of  debris  from  the 
broken  second  story  that  littered  the  weed-grown 
floors.  From  this  height  we  could  trace  through 
the  gardens  all  the  lines  of  masonry  and  contours 
of  tanks.  We  could  see  the  summits  of  the  watch- 
towers  rising  from  the  trees,  and  the  whole 
pleasance  assumed  a  proportion  that  we  had  lost 
as  we  struggled  below  in  the  chaos  of  vegetation. 
Beyond  it  spread  the  many-colored  lanes  of  the 
kraton,  and  beyond  that  the  green  plain  of 
Mataram,  sloping  up  to  the  smoking  cone  of 
Merapi. 

The  heat  soon  drove  us  to  lower  levels,  where 
we  walked  across  sunken  courts  and  through 
tunnels  in  the  rock  to  a  round  underground 
chamber.  The  place  was  dank  here,  and  smelled 
of  decay.  It  seemed  to  cast  the  gloom  of  un- 
happy association  over  the  little  Malay  woman, 
for  her  steps  dragged  and  she  shook  her  head 
mournfully.  Suddenly  she  began  to  sing,  and  her 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  155 

voice,  in  spite  of  its  nasal  quality,  carried  a 
certain  plaintive  amorousness.  When  she  saw 
me  looking  at  her,  she  touched  my  arm  again 
and  repeated,  almost  in  a  sob:  "Balanda,  bal- 
anda." 

The  man,  who  up  to  this  point  had  not  noticed 
her,  caught  her  by  the  shoulder  and  threw  her 
aside.  After  this  she  followed  us  timidly  back 
to  the  central  tanks,  and  I  felt  miserable  on  her 
account.  Her  affair,  whatever  it  was,  was  prob- 
ably simple  enough ;  but  it  was  keener  to  me  than 
all  the  memories  of  dark  and  bloody  intrigue  that 
this  place  could  hold.  Some  white  lover,  I  told 
myself,  some  "Orang  balanda,"  had  wearied  of 
her  dark  skin  and  gone  off,  leaving  her  to  this 
madness.  When  we  reached  the  gate  I  looked  at 
the  Explorer,  and  he,  with  complete  understand- 
ing of  what  I  wanted,  gave  money  to  her,  as  well 
as  a  small  piece  to  the  man.  We  should  have  felt 
vaguely  comforted  by  this,  even  in  the  surety  that 
he  would  afterward  take  it  from  her,  had  she  not 
given  a  sudden  start  toward  our  carriage  to  fol- 
low us.  The  money  she  had  not  noticed,  but  as 
we  climbed  in  she  laid  her  hand  on  the  wheel  and 
cried  out  beseechingly  to  me.  Before  I  could  push 
her  aside,  she  turned  of  her  own  accord  and  threw 
herself  flat  in  the  dust.  The  man  made  no  move 


156  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

toward  her,  and  she  lay  there  as  we  rode  off  in 
silence  to  our  hotel. 

At  the  rice  taffel  we  found  Miss  Hale-Hale  and 
the  Professor  already  started  on  the  terrible  suc- 
cession of  dishes. 

"Well,  how  was  the  soeltan?"  I  asked  as  we 
seated  ourselves. 

4 'He  seemed  a  nice  old  chap,"  said  Miss  Hale- 
Hale.  "We  saw  him  for  only  a  minute." 

"Did  the  Secretary  go  with  you?" 

"Rather!  But  some  sort  of  officer  person  pre- 
sented us." 

"What  did  the  soeltan  say!" 

"I  haven't  an  idea;  he  spoke  no  English." 

"Then  what  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  nothing  at  all." 

"But  couldn't  some  one  interpret  for  you?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  rumbled  the  Profes- 
sor. 

"Then  what  did  you  say?"  I  asked  him. 

"Oh,  I  said  what  I  considered  to  be  fitting — 
the  usual  thing." 

"My  word,  I  hope  not!"  exclaimed  the  Ex- 
plorer fervently. 

"But  what  did  it  look  like?"  I  cried,  exas- 
perated. "Can't  some  one  tell  me?" 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale,  laying  down  her 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  157 

fork  and  struggling  for  expression,  "I  should  say 
that  it  was  all  decidedly  quaint." 

1 '  Humph ! ' '  roared  the  Professor.  * '  After  this 
most  illuminating  description  can  you  regret  not 
having  come  too?" 

On  the  way  to  my  pavilion  for  the  afternoon 
siesta  I  met  the  Secretary  coming  in  to  lunch.  He 
sat  down  on  the  steps  of  my  veranda  and  fanned 
himself  with  his  topee. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "this  morning 
I  exhausted  myself  on  your  account.  Tell  me 
what  you -also  did." 

I  told  him  of  the  trip  to  the  Taman  Sari,  and  he 
expressed  wonder  that  I  could  waste  my  time  on 
a  spot  of  so  little  interest.  I  remembered  the 
song  of  the  woman  in  the  blue  sarong,  and  as  best 
I  could  hummed  it  for  him. 

"Do  you  know  it?"  I  asked.  He  thought  he 
did,  and,  taking  from  a  pocket  one  of  his  huge 
cards  with  all  his  titles  inscribed,  wrote  in  pencil 
on  the  back : 

Dan  mana  datang  lintaf 
Dari  sawah  troes  ka  kali. 
Dari  mana  datang  tjintat 
Dari  mata  troes  ka  hati. 

"Now  you  must  translate  it  for  me,"  I  cried. 


158  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

"So  much  energy/'  he  complained;  but  he 
wrote  nevertheless,  with  many  erasures  and  pon- 
derings : 

Tell  me  from  whence  comes  the  snake? 
From  the  rice-fields  to  the  river. 
Tell  me  from  whence  comes  love  ? 
From  my  eyes  to  my  heart. 

"That  is  a  pantoem,"  he  said,  "very  long  and 
all  about  love." 

* '  Gracious ! "  I  exclaimed.  (It  has  just  occurred 
to  me  that  " gracious*'  is  a  wonderful  word — an 
inane,  unanswerable,  non-committal,  ladylike 
word.  I  often  use  it.) 

"If  you  wish,  I  will  write  it  all  for  you."  He 
looked  at  me  over  his  pince-nez.  "For  it  is  curi- 
ous how  this  expresses  what  even  a  European 
may  feel." 

"You  must  not  take  the  trouble  to  write  it  all," 
I  said ;  "you  will  be  late  for  tiffin." 

He  looked  at  me  fixedly  for  several  seconds  and 
rose.  "As  how  even  a  Hollander  may  feel,"  said 
he,  as  if  he  made  a  half -resentful  concession  to 
some  one. 

I  went  into  Miss  Hale-Hale 's  room  and  showed 
her  the  card.  "Did  you  ever  feel  like  this,  Miss 
Hale-Hale?"  I  asked. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  159 

She  read  it  carefully  from  beginning  to  end. 

"Rubbish!"  she  exclaimed. 

And  to-night  you  appeared  before  me,  Hinbad, 
in  the  form  of  a  djinn,  with  such  an  expression 
of  commiseration  on  your  face  as  is  considered  to 
be  in  good  taste  at  funerals. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"Too  bad,"  said  you;  "too  bad,  indeed." 

' '  Explain, ' '  I  cried  irritably ; ' '  don 't  be  vague.  *  ' 

"Just  as  you  were  beginning  to  care  for  him, 
too." 

"But  who?"  I  cried.    "Who?" 

"Don't  shout,"  you  said  reprovingly;  "they  '11 
hear  you  in  the  next  pavilion. ' ' 

"Who,  then?"  I  demanded  in  a  ghastly  whis- 
per. 

"Mr.  Endicott,"  you  whispered  back. 

Words  failed  me.  I  gnashed  my  teeth  while  you 
continued  to  look  pityingly  on  me. 

"Mr.  Endicott!"  I  managed  to  sputter  out  at 
last.  "Whatever  gave  you  such  an  idea?  I  dis- 
like him  extremely,  and  he  dislikes  me.  We  are 
uncongenial  on  every  point.  I  much  prefer  the 
society  of  the  Professor,  of  the  Secretary,  of  Cap- 
tain Roggevene — of  any  one.  If  you  wish  to 
know  what  I  think  of  him,  it  is  my  opinion  that  he 
has  not  got  so  far  away  from  his  pink  cotton-wool 


160  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

existence  as  he  imagines.  I  think  he  is  distress- 
ingly over-civilized,  and  over-self-conscious.  I 
think  he  is  ridiculous.  Why,  I  can  not  begin  to 
tell  you,  even,  what  I  think  of  him. ' ' 

1 1  Remember,  he  went  through  Papua, ' '  you  said ; 
"and  before  that  through  the  Gold  Coast." 

"How  do  I  know  he  ever  went  through  Papua? 
Who  was  there  to  tell?  He  may  have  gone  a  mile 
or  so  back  in  the  bush,  and  sat  down — " 

"Come,  come,"  you  said;  "he  is  a  scientist  of 
some  reputation — even  I  have  heard  of  him. ' ' 

"I  would  believe  him  capable  of  any  charlatan- 
ism," I  cried  excitedly.  "He  is  absolutely  insin- 
cere; he  is  a  poseur,  as  all  other  civilized  beings 
are." 

"My  dear,"  you  said,  "the  brutal  violence  of 
your  sentiments  leaves  me  entirely  unconvinced. ' ' 

"Go  away,  then,  and  leave  me  alone.  I  have 
to  get  up  before  dawn  to-morrow  to  look  at  a 
temple,  and  your  convictions  in  this  matter  do 
not  interest  me." 

So  you  went.  SINBAD. 

Djokjakarta,  Java. 
—  December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 
It  was  so  early  as  to  be  at  the  darkest  hour 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  161 

when  the  Explorer,  the  Professor,  Miss  Hale- 
Hale,  and  I  walked  down  to  the  station  at  Djokja; 
but  already  the  floors  were  crowded  with  natives 
sitting  in  groups,  lying  about  chattering  or  snor- 
ing, with  every  appearance  of  having  passed  the 
night  there.  When  the  train  came  in,  some  of 
them  bundled  aboard,  but  others  remained,  either 
to  wait  for  a  later  train  or  to  return  home.  They 
take  train  trips  evidently  as  much  for  pastime  as 
convenience  in  Java. 

We  rode  toward  Mageling  leaning  our  heads 
against  the  hard  boards,  talking  occasionally,  but 
drowsing  more  often,  till  the  blackness  outside 
became  opaque  and  dim  tracings  of  near  banana 
groves  and  distant  mountains  revealed  them- 
selves. The  streams  and  rice-pools  glimmered. 
Then  suddenly  the  sky  was  flushed,  and  for  a 
breathless  quarter  of  an  hour  pageants  of  flame, 
cloud,  and  waning  star  formed  above,  and  multi- 
plied and  mirrored  in  the  network  of  rice-lakes 
below.  I  thought  there  could  be  no  day  fit  to 
follow  such  a  prelude. 

By  sun-up  we  were  at  Mageling,  where  a  dos-d- 
dos  awaited  us.  Soon  we  were  rattling  off  down 
the  country  road.  For  a  time  the  air  was  pass- 
ably fresh,  but  the  blue  mountain  wall  toward 
which  we  rode  began  to  tremble  in  the  rising 


162  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

heat.  The  driver  made  a  great  noise,  slapping 
his  whip  and  giving  frequent  directions  to  his 
small  apprentice,  whose  business  it  seemed  to  be 
to  alight  and  turn  the  ponies  at  the  curves.  We 
went  at  full  gallop  even  through  villages  where 
the  brown  babies  scattered  at  our  approach.  Once 
we  made  a  species  of  rout  in  a  pasar  (market) 
crowded  with  country  folk  just  in  with  fruit  and 
vegetables. 

An  arresting  shout  from  our  driver  drew  our 
eyes  to  a  hill  directly  ahead  rising  detached  from 
the  plain.  It  was  a  low  hill,  but,  traced  as  it 
was  against  the  volcanic  wall,  we  saw  that  no  or- 
dinary foliage  crowned  its  summit,  for  it  had 
flowered  into  dagobas,  terraces,  steps,  and  gate- 
ways. Almost  immediately  we  lost  it  in  a  curve, 
and  had  to  be  content  with  the  earlier  common- 
places of  the  road.  At  this  point  the  Professor 
expounded  in  a  roaring  voice,  that  he  might  be 
heard,  the  theory  of  a  friend  of  his  on  the  Boro 
Boedoer's  architecture,  insisting  that  it  was  Dra- 
vidian  rather  than  Chalukyan.  No  one  heeded 
him.  Then  up  a  hill  we  went  full  tilt  and  shout, 
and  there  it  stood  strangely  near  and  looming 
against  the  sky.  Our  voices,  even  the  Profes- 
sor's, died  in  its  august  presence.  We  almost 
walked  tiptoe  and  whispered  while  the  driver 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  163 

drove  silently  off  to  the  stables.  We  sat  on  the 
steps  of  the  passangrahan  a  few  moments,  and  de- 
cided we  had  better  climb  it  at  once,  for  the  heat 
was  growing. 

The  dimensions  of  this  Boro  Boedoer  give  no 
idea  of  its  vastness  of  proportion  or  the  delicacy 
of  its  details.  However,  I  will  tell  you  that 
there  are  five  stories,  culminating  in  a  great  cen- 
tral dagoba  surrounded  by  seventy-two  dagobas 
each  containing  a  sitting  Buddha.  In  all  there 
are  four  hundred  and  fifty  images  of  Buddha,  and 
fifteen  hundred  bas-reliefs  ornament  the  terraces, 
which  put  end  to  end  would  stretch  three  miles. 
The  guide-book  tells  you  this  much;  also  that  it 
has  been  exposed  to  the  hottest  of  suns,  buried  un- 
der earth,  and  finally  excavated  again.  But  you 
must  imagine,  Hinbad,  a  low  pyramidical  hill, 
giving  the  effect  of  vastness  with  compact  propor- 
tion, splendidly  exposed  to  the  elements,  sun- 
burnished  and  wind-blown.  It  is  solitary.  The 
valley  slopes  down  from  it,  lacquered  over  with 
rice-lakes  and  palm-groves  toward  the  encircling 
walls  of  volcanic  mountains.  At  one  time  per- 
haps cities  grew  around  it,  but  it  has  the  air  of 
always  having  been  remote  from  the  dust  of  com- 
mon roadways.  It  is  impossible  to  realize  that 
it  has  stood  there  more  than  eleven  hundred 


164  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

years,  for  the  footsteps  of  the  builders  still  seem 
warm  on  the  stones,  and  at  the  end  of  every  gal- 
lery one  expects  to  catch  the  flutter  of  a  yellow 
robe  or  hear  the  blowing  of  conch-shells.  This  liv- 
ingness,  more  than  any  age  or  size  or  even  associ- 
ation, gives  it  its  astounding  dignity. 

As  for  the  bas-reliefs,  to  follow  them  is  to  turn 
the  pages  of  a  book,  or  better  still  to  watch  the 
unfolding  of  a  drama,  for  they  represent  a  defi- 
nite progression  of  human  experience.  Inciden- 
tally they  furnish  every  detail  of  the  lives  and 
traditions  of  the  Aryan  invaders  of  Java,  from 
Naga  princes  in  their  palaces  to  peasants  sweat- 
ing in  their  fields.  Beginning  at  the  lower  tiers 
comes  a  series  of  adventures  altogether  of  the 
material  world.  Men  sail  shark-infested  seas, 
traverse  monkey-infested  jungles  on  elephants, 
and  shoot  at  birds  with  their  blow-pipe  arrows. 
One  sees  the  pleasures  of  palaces,  princes  offer 
presents  to  ladies,  or  woo  them  with  restrained 
ardor,  they  receive  homages,  and  watch  long 
triumphal  processions. 

Curious  interludes  of  fable  appear,  with  mon- 
keys climbing  upon  buffalos y  backs,  or  a  monster 
(Raxasa)  adoring  a  buffalo.  Gradually,  as  one 
mounts  the  terraces,  the  supernatural  element  per- 
meates more  and  more  this  bewildering  variety 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  165 

of  life.  A  divine  cloud  half  illumines,  half  ob- 
scures it.  Heavenly  apsaras  supersede  the  danc- 
ers of  the  king,  in  place  of  the  kings  themselves 
comes  the  miraculous  history  of  Buddha,  his  re- 
nunciations, his  final  apotheosis.  Yet  the  chis- 
eled stone  still  suggests  so  strongly  the  essence  of 
life,  whether  mortal  or  celestial,  that  one  almost 
sees  the  flow  of  the  blood  or  hears  the  beating  of 
wings.  At  last,  on  the  topmost  steps,  comes  the 
climax  of  'all  aspiration,  the  great  figure  of 
Buddha,  symbolically  left  unfinished,  as  beyond 
human  power  to  portray. 

This  place,  as  I  keep  saying,  has  no  age.  The 
smell  of  decay  that  pervades  Djokja  and  the  tum- 
bling kraton  has  no  place  here.  Whatever  the 
Professor's  theory  of  its  origin,  it  was  built 
by  a  race  in  the  morning  of  youth  and  of  vic- 
tory, and  it  is  the  epitome  of  all  that  they  were 
at  that  moment. 

I  stood  on  the  sunny  summit  of  Boro  Boedoer, 
where  I  had  climbed  faster  than  the  others,  and 
looked  out  over  the  plain  of  Mataram.  The  Ex- 
plorer was  the  first  to  reach  me. 

"We  have  attained  Nirvana,"  I  said,  when  he 
stood  beside  me,  "while  poor  Miss  Hale-Hale  and 
the  Professor  there  are  still  struggling  in  the 
coils  of  human  desires." 


166  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"But  really  I  don't  want  to  attain  it,"  the  Ex- 
plorer said  heartily.  "Does  the  idea  of  enjoy- 
ing extinction  in  the  company  of  an  unconscious 
deity  appeal  strongly  to  you?" 

"But  supposing  that  should  be  actually  what 
happens?  What  would  you  do  about  it?" 

"Then  I  suppose  I  should  have  to  rely  on  my 
will  to  be  to  pull  me  out." 

"You  place  an  amazing  reliance  on  your  will, 
Mr.  Endicott.  When  you  feel  the  void  sucking 
you  down  as  the  ocean  sucks  down  a  stone,  do 
you  think  you  can  get  out  of  it  with  one  big 
flop,  as  you  say  you  escaped  from  your  pink 
cotton-wool?" 

He  smiled.  "It  might  be  harder,"  he  acknowl- 
edged. Then  he  turned  to  look  at  me  curiously. 
"What  an  imagination!"  he  exclaimed.  "What 
an  imagination!" 

But  he  did  not  say  it  admiringly,  and  I  felt 
annoyed.  Even  now  I  can  not  overcome  my  ir- 
ritation at  his  apparent  change  of  attitude  to- 
ward me. 

"Being  a  scientist  and  an  Englishman  both," 
I  said,  "I  don't  doubt  that  you  distrust  the 
quality. ' ' 

"It  is  a  fine  horse,"  he  admitted,  "but  one  must 
ride  it — •" 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  167 

"Yes,  if  one  is  intensely  conscious  of  having 
it,  but  I  thought  you  disapproved  of  this  kind 
of  intense  self-consciousness.  It  keeps  one  from 
being  an  Enid  and  an  Andromache  or  a  Shakun- 
tala.  At  least,  you  said  it  did." 

But  the  Explorer  did  not  smile  back  at  me. 
"When  I  spoke  of  self-consciousness,"  he  said 
gravely,  "I  did  not  mean  the  proper  knowledge 
and  use  of  one's  own  power."  He  looked  up 
at  me  with  a  sudden  sternness  and  said:  "I 
think  you  have  more  than  one  power  that  you 
waste  without  thought  and  recklessly — " 

I  stared  at  him,  too  astonished  to  speak,  for 
surely  this  was  above  and  beyond  any  mere  rude- 
ness such  as  the  Professor  might  have  uttered. 

Just  then  the  Professor  reached  us,  and  pres- 
ently Miss  Hale-Hale.  After  a  time  we  descended, 
and  at  the  foot  of  the  tjandi  the  Explorer  picked 
a  lotus  bud  that  was  opening  in  the  sun.  He 
handed  it  to  me  with  a  slight  bow  and  a  look  of 
apology  in  his  eyes.  I  took  it  and  handed  it  to 
Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  tucked  it  in  her  belt  with- 
out comment. 

Across  the  border  of  the  residency  of  Soera- 
karta  is  a  group  of  temples  called  Prambanan, 
where  the  Secretary  of  the  Resident  took  us  that 


168  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

same  afternoon.  This  group,  to  my  mind,  only 
accentuated  the  immaculate  perfection  of  the 
Boro  Boedoer,  for  it  has  all  the  faults  of  the  Dra- 
vidian  (if  Dravidian  it  is!).  The  proportion  is 
missing,  the  ornamentation  is  too  profuse,  and 
one  sinks  into  the  extreme  polytheism  of  the 
Shivaite  period  of  Hindu  domination.  Here  we 
have  Shiva,  Krishna,  and  Lakshmi,  Surya  and 
Chandra,  the  Sun  and  Moon  riding  in  their  chari- 
ots. There  is  the  elephant-headed  Ganesha  and 
Shiva's  nandi,  looking  quite  like  the  gray  buf- 
falos  one  sees  on  the  country  roads.  In  some  of 
the  little  alcoves  at  the  tops  of  steep  flights  of 
steps,  I  found  a  curious  thing.  On  the  pedestals 
of  the  gods  were  little  clay  bowls  in  which  a  bit 
of  incense  smoldered,  and  beside  them  cheap  fans 
of  braided  palm.  There  were  no  flowers  or  other 
signs  of  worshipers,  but  worshipers  there  must 
have  been — poor,  to  judge  by  these  offerings,  and 
timid  in  the  light  of  day.  The  Secretary  was  too 
lazy  to  climb  the  steps,  and  he  professed  to  know 
nothing  of  the  matter. 

"All  Javanese  are  Mohammedans,"  he  told  us 
emphatically.  However,  to  my  surprise,  he  did 
tell  us  a  delightful  tale  of  the  Loro  (or  Virgin) 
Joggrang,  for  whom  the  place  is  sometimes 
named.  It  was  all  before  she  became  confused 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  169 

with  Dnrga,  the  eight-armed  consort  of  Shiva,  and 
this  is  how  it  happened : 

At  a  time  when  she  was  still  two-armed,  she 
succeeded  in  winning  the  love  of  a  great  sorcerer, 
Boendowoso  by  name,  whom,  however,  she  re- 
jected many  times.  At  last,  evidently  fearful  of 
his  magic  wrath,  she  decided  to  put  him  to  a  task 
in  the  accomplishment  of  which  he  might  win  her, 
but  in  the  event  of  failure  retire  once  and  for 
all.  It  was  a  task  to  alarm  even  a  sorcerer  of 
parts,  for  it  was  nothing  less  than  that  a  palace 
of  a  thousand  statues  was  to  be  built  for  her  in 
a  single  night.  Boendowoso  undertook  it  with 
confidence,  and  Loro  Joggrang,  assured  of  his 
failure,  went  to  sleep.  But  toward  morning  she 
was  disquietingly  awakened  by  the  clash  of  stone 
meeting  stone  and  the  whir  of  swift  invisible 
hands. 

Alarmed  as  she  was,  her  craft  apparently  did 
not  forsake  her.  Assuming  that  spirits  were 
aiding  her  lover,  she  sent  out  her  maids  to  scat- 
ter certain  flowers  the  odor  of  which  spirits  can 
not  abide.  As  the  flowers  were  dropped  the  air 
was  suddenly  filled  by  the  great  rush  of  their 
flight.  Only  in  the  nick  of  time  too,  for  when 
day  dawned  the  palace  appeared  to  be  complete 
in  all  its  splendor.  But  as  Boendowoso  led  her 


170  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

over  it,  Loro  Joggrang  smilingly  counted  the 
statues,  confident  that  one  at  least  would  be 
missing,  as  indeed  it  was,  for  there  were  only 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine! 

So  Loro  Joggrang  refused  the  sorcerer;  but 
observe,  please,  that  this  kind  of  thing  should 
always  be  done  tactfully  if  possible.  No  doubt 
she  could  not  resist  taunting  him  a  bit  on  his 
failure.  '  *  My  dear  Boendowoso,  did  I  really  hear 
you  say  you  were  a  sorcerer?"  or  something 
like  that. 

At  any  rate,  if  he  was  not  sorcerer  enough  to 
win  her  love,  he  was  at  least  capable  of  some- 
thing, for  in  a  blast  of  rage  he  turned  her  to 
stone,  so  that  she  herself  formed  the  thousandth 
statue ! 

And  this  story  is  quite  true,  for  you  have  only 
to  go  and  see  her  for  yourself ! 

As  we  packed  to  leave  Djokjakarta,  I  suddenly 
said  to  Miss  Hale-Hale :  "I  wish  you  and  I  could 
go  on  alone  together  and  leave  these  two  men  be- 
hind.'" 

"Do  you?"  she  inquired.  "Why?"  She  was 
very  busy  over  a  shawl-strap  and  did  not  look  up 
at  me. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  171 

"Because/'  I  hesitated — " because  Mr.  Endi- 
cott  does  not  like  me." 

She  went  on  tugging  at  her  strap.  Presently 
she  said:  "Why  do  you  suppose  he  came  down 
from  the  volcano  ? ' ' 

"Why,  to  look  after  you/'  I  said. 

"Rubbish!"  she  exclaimed,  with  such  vigor  that 
I  felt  all  of  a  sudden  strangely  and  unaccount- 
ably comforted. 

"Do  you  know,  you  are  really  rather  queer," 
she  observed,  looking  up  at  me.  I  felt  that  I 
was  growing  extremely  red  in  the  face,  and  that 
this  fact  must  make  me  seem  even  queerer. 

"Am  I!"  I  asked  carelessly.  "So  Hinbad  is  in 
the  habit  of  telling  me. ' ' 

"Who  is  Hinbad?"  she  demanded.  But  I  did 
not  explain  to  her  and  she  went  on:  "Anyway,  I 
didn't  mean  you  alone  were  queer.  It  is  both 
of  you." 

"Oh,"  I  said,  throwing  things  recklessly  into 
the  top  of  my  trunk. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  as  if  the  thing  passed 
almost  beyond  speech;  "jolly  queer." 

I  longed  to  talk  more  of  this  after  we  were  in 
bed,  for  I  slept  now  in  her  pavilion;  but  Miss 
Hale-Hale  is  not  the  kind  of  person  in  whose 


172  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

company  one  lies  awake  till  dawn  to  discuss  such 
momentous  intangibilities.  SINBAD. 


Buitenzorg,  Java. 
—  December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 

We  tore  ourselves  from  Djokja  with  the  diffi- 
culty with  which  one  arouses  one's  self  from  a 
dream.  But  as  soon  as  we  began  to  climb  the 
mountains  of  the  Preanger  Eesidency  we  fell  into 
a  violent  argument  over  having  stayed  so  long, 
in  the  same  manner  that  one  upbraids  a  household 
for  having  let  one  oversleep.  The  reason  for  this 
was  the  cloudy  peaks,  the  tree-ferns,  and  the 
waterfalls  we  were  passing.  To  let  all  these 
go  by,  we  decided,  was  beyond  human  power; 
we  must  arrange,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  to  stop  off 
somewhere.  We  consulted  guide-books  and  time- 
cards,  and  scribbled  on  paper.  In  the  end  we 
decided  to  cut  a  day  from  Batavia  and  spend  it  at 
Buitenzorg. 

This  town  is  the  place  of  which  all  Dutch  co- 
lonials cry,  "But  have  you  seen  Buitenzorg T* 
The  guide-book  speaks  of  it  without  apology.  It 
is  the  seat  of  the  government  of  the  Indes,  the 
hub  of  colonial  social  life.  "Everything  in  it," 
exclaims  the  guide-book  ecstatically,  "is  worth 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  173 

seeing,  including  the  Protestant  Church,  the  Club 
Building,  the  Military  Encampment,  the  Race- 
Course,  the  Cemetery,  and  the  Lunatic  Asylum ! ' ' 

But  overshadowing  all  are  the  gardens.  Even 
in  Australia  one  begins  to  hear  of  these  gardens. 
They  were  established  by  Rienwarat  in  1817,  and 
since  then,  tended  and  improved  by  the  careful 
Dutch,  they  have  come  to  be  the  most  scientific 
tropical  gardens  in  the  world. 

Meanwhile  the  peaks  grew  higher,  the  air  cooler, 
and  after  passing  Soekaboemi,  the  " world's 
pleasance,"  residence  of  my  Chinese  friend,  we 
came  in  the  dark  to  Buitenzorg.  But  even  in  the 
dark  there  is  distinctly  an  air  about  Buitenzorg. 
The  carriages  are  newer,  the  streets  tidier,  trees 
are  planted  self-consciously  in  rows,  and  all  the 
snobbery  of  officialdom  is  visible  in  the  faces  of 
the  inhabitants.  I,  for  one,  felt  rather  subdued 
by  it.  "We  climbed  into  our  new-smelling  carriage, 
and  drove  to  our  hotel  under  great  trees  that 
dripped  moisture.  Here  we  found  ourselves  late 
for  dinner;  but  the  proprietor  installed  for  us  a 
small  table,  sheltered  by  screens  and  lighted  by 
colored  candles,  on  the  veranda  that  ran  around 
the  courtyard  outside  our  rooms.  After  changing 
our  travel-stained  clothes  we  sat  down  here  for 
supper.  The  occasion  is  memorable  to  me  in  that 


174  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

I  tasted  for  the  first  time  that  East  Indian  titbit 
cceur  de  palmier  with  Hollandaise  sauce. 

From  above  our  screens  came  the  murmur  of 
voices  and  drifts  of  blue  smoke.  The  hour  had 
arrived  when  Dutch  society  casts  its  rigid  pro- 
prieties to  the  winds,  when  men  and  women  put 
on  pajamas,  peignoirs,  and  negligees,  revealing 
themselves  corsetless  and  beltless  in  undismayed 
embonpoint.  Fortunately,  our  screens  hedged  us 
in  chaste  seclusion.  The  Professor  took  out  a 
book  translated  into  German  on  the  famous  Bo- 
tanical Gardens,  which  he  tried  to  read  aloud  to 
us,  but  by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  Legum- 
inosce  I  was  nearly  asleep,  and  at  the  Verbenacea 
completely  so.  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I  roused  our- 
selves enough  to  get  to  our  room  and  fall  into 
the  bed.  It  was  customarily  huge  and  draped 
with  mosquito-netting,  but  the  air  blowing  in  the 
windows  was  the  rainy  coolness  of  high  altitudes, 
and  we  fell  asleep  to  the  tinkle  of  a  cascade  in  a 
ravine  below  the  window. 

A  fresh  wind  and  bird-calls  awakened  me  this 
morning.  Miss  Hale-Hale  announced  that  she 
had  fever  again,  and  stoically  submerged  her- 
self in  the  bed-clothes,  prepared  to  spend  the 
day  there.  Outside  the  window  stretched  my  ra- 
vine of  the  night  before,  neither  so  deep  nor  so 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  175 

wide  as  it  had  seemed  then,  but  still  a  ferny  spot 
sloping  down  to  form  an  opening  in  the  cliff  on 
whose  edge  the  hotel  stood.  The  revelation  of 
our  situation  delighted  me.  The  rock  path  out- 
side my  window  led  to  the  bathing-rooms,  and  on 
my  way  from  them  I  followed  it  to  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  which  broke  abruptly  down  to  the  val- 
ley of  the  Tjidane,  several  hundred  feet  below. 
The  valley  watered  by  the  Tjidane  Eiver  lifts 
into  the  great  symmetrical  cone  of  Salak  Vol- 
cano, across  whose  face  clouds  were  breaking  and 
dissolving.  In  the  morning  sunlight  the  closely 
growing  vegetation  was  as  green  as  if  every  leaf 
were  fresh  from  the  bud. 

There  was  no  sign  of  human  occupation  in  its 
denseness,  except  for  the  thatch  houses  along  the 
river.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  the  dramatic 
grouping  combined  with  such  splendor  of  tone  in 
these  tropic  landscapes  that  makes  them  so  sud- 
denly and  completely  satisfying,  I  only  know  that 
I  always  feel  I  have  found  something  I  have  been 
long  looking  for,  almost  like  instantaneous  recog- 
nition of  a  paradise  that  lingers  in  our  racial 
memory. 

After  breakfast  we  rode  to  the  gardens,  pass- 
ing on  the  way  all  kinds  of  important  people  in 
carriages,  whom  our  driver  pointed  out  to  us — 


176  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

the  Commander  of  the  Army,  the  Resident  of 
Ternate,  etc.  Beyond  the  old  Chinese  pasar  we 
came  to  the  gate,  and  entered  by  a  great  avenue 
of  trees  whose  upper  foliage  at  once  cut  off  the 
sun.  From  that  moment  we  were  immersed  in 
green  gloom  woven  with  patterns  of  plants  and 
slowly  moving  light  patches.  Orchids  of  all  kinds 
clung  to  the  trunks  of  the  kanaris,  lending  them 
just  that  touch  of  exaggeration  which  we  call  fan- 
tastic. The  Professor,  pointing  to  one  pale  clus- 
ter, called  them  "Monstera  deliciosa." 

We  passed  into  a  grove  at  the  right  of  the 
avenue,  and  the  spell  of  the  gardens  fell  heavily 
around  us.  It  is  composed  of  a  hundred  potent 
parts  of  color,  shadow,  perfume,  almost  imper- 
ceptible movement,  and  sounds  like  the  mysteri- 
ous resonances  from  some  great  instrument.  A 
garden  is  not  like  a  gallery  of  paintings.  It 
does  not  merely  suggest  life.  It  lives.  The 
beauty  of  rebirth  from  decay,  of  perpetual  recon- 
struction, is  before  one.  It  is  a  promise  of  im- 
mortality. 

But  I  know  you  will  be  wanting  me  to  tell  you 
something  of  what  actually  grows  there.  Well, 
palms  first  of  all,  Hinbad,  in  all  their  multi- 
tudinous varieties.  There  are  palms  from  which' 
houses  are  builded,  roofs  and  sails  braided,  palms 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  177 

whose  fruit  is  eaten  and  whose  milk  is  drunk, 
palms  that  give  oil,  or  sago  palms  that  give  the 
betel-nut  which  spoils  all  the  white  teeth  of  the 
Javanese  ladies,  and  palms  that  give  the  toddy 
wine  that  spoils  the  morals  of  the  gentlemen.  I 
will  tell  you  of  a  palm  called  talipot,  which  rises 
to  great  height,  and  after  forty  years  or  so  pro- 
duces a  bud  which  one  day  goes  off  like  a  cannon 
and  shoots  a  column  of  plumy  flowers  ten  feet  into 
the  air.  After  which  supreme  effort  the  talipot 
dies.  The  Cingalese  use  these  leaves,  boiled,  to 
scratch  their  sacred  writings  on,  so  if  you  see  any 
Pali  manuscripts  in  museums  anywhere  you  will 
know  this  much  about  them. 

It  is  a  strange  thing  that  the  farther  north  one 
goes  the  softer  the  woods  become,  and  the  far- 
ther south  the  harder.  I  should  have  figured  it 
the  other  way,  probably.  But  here  all  the  hard- 
woods of  the  south  are  found,  with  close  barks, 
delicate  leaves,  and  that  proud  carriage  of  theirs. 
There  are  fruit-trees,  one  called  Parmentiera, 
with  fruit  like  wax  candles.  Spice-trees  too.  And 
oh,  what  odors  are  here!  It  smells  like  some  di- 
vine apothocary's  shop  where  every  ailment  of 
the  body  or  the  soul  must  find  its  panacea. 

We  stepped  into  a  grove  just  off  the  kanari 
drive.  In  the  dusk  of  higher  trees  and  dark  sod 


178  LETTERS  TO  A  BJINK 

stood  several  delicate  leguminous  trees,  catching 
stray  beams  of  light  in  which  their  beanlike  flow- 
ers and  jeweled  pods  shone  like  the  gules  in  a 
stained  window. 

"What  is  the  name  of  that  one!'"  I  whis- 
pered, pointing  to  a  red-blossomed  branch. 

" Amherstia  nobilis,"  said  the  Explorer. 

I  repeated  it  to  myself. 

"Name  some  more,  please;  I  like  the  sound  of 
them." 

He  chose  at  random  from  the  German  book, 
" Plumeria,  Palmce  filamentosce,  Melania,  Ja~ 
caranda,  Calathea,  Monster  a  deliciosa/' 

"It  sounds  like  incantations,  doesn't  it?"  he 
asked. 

Under  the  genial  spell  of  these  gardens  I  could 
not  feel  quite  so  unkindly  toward  the  young  man 
as  I  should  have  liked.  Indeed,  Hinbad,  in  spite 
of  everything,  he  is  not  at  all  disagreeable  to  look 
at,  and  he  gives  a  tantalizing  hint  of  something 
fine,  perhaps  too  fine  for  me,  which  belongs  to 
what  the  French  call  "race"  as  much  as  to  the 
individual  character.  The  opinions  that  I  write 
you  of  him  conflict,  I  know;  but  then,  they  con- 
flict in  me,  so  what  can  1  do  about  it?. 

"Mr.  Endicott,"  I  said,  "in  a  place  like  this, 
if  one  person  had  a  misunderstanding  with 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  179 

another  person,  he  would  be  pretty  likely  to  for- 
get it,  wouldn't  he?" 

"You  mean  because  it  is  so  beautiful  here?" 
he  asked. 

*  *  I  believe  I  do.  It  is  like  hearing  a  symphony 
with  some  one.  I  can't  tell  you  just  why,  but 
people  I  am  with  become  a  part  of  the  beauty  I 
hear  or  the  beauty  I  see." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  were  too  absorbed  in 
some  thought  of  his  own  to  answer  me. 

"Could  you  stay  a  moment  longer  in  this 
place,"  I  persisted,  "and  feel  anything  but 
friendliness  for — well,  everybody?" 

"But  I  feel  that  now,"  he  replied  mechanically, 
and  after  a  moment  added  with  some  effort — 
"don't  you?" 

"I  do  not,"  I  cried,  suddenly  angry  again;  "I 
am  distinctly  displeased  with  some  one — with 
every  one!" 

He  reached  up  and,  forgetful  or  disregardful  of 
the  rules  of  the  gardens,  broke  off  a  cluster  of 
red  Amherstia  flowers.  "Have  the  gardens  so 
soon  lost  their  charm?"  he  asked  gravely. 

I  tried  with  all  my  might  to  keep  a  tremor  of 
unwished-for  feeling  from  my  voice.  I  turned 
and  walked  toward  the  alleyway,  saying  as 
lightly  as  I  could:  "I  am  afraid  one  feature  of 


180  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

such  sudden  susceptibility  must  be  an  equally 
quick  recovery." 

"If  you  find  it  so,  you  are  more  fortunate  than 
I,"  he  said,  following  me  out.  Turning  quickly, 
I  surprised  a  look  in  his  eyes  of  something  almost 
like  pain. 

After  all,  I  had  been  rude,  ridiculous.  I 
vowed  never  to  speak  to  him  again.  While  the 
Professor  came  up  and  engaged  him  in  some 
argument,  I  slipped  from  them  down  a  by-path, 
and  came  out  unexpectedly  on  the  white  palace  of 
the  Governor  of  the  Indes,  standing  at  the  far 
end  of  a  little  lake  full  of  Victoria  regia. 

Why,  Hinbad,  should  I  care  about  the  insig- 
nificant emotions  of  my  fellow  beings,  mortals  who 
must  die  and  decay  and  the  beautiful  world  I  am 
in  know  them  no  more?  Here  are  gardens  that 
are  deathless.  Their  lovely  cycle  of  flowering 
and  fruiting  is  unbroken  by  grim  periods  of  bare 
branch  and  dead  leaf.  Replacement  goes  on 
imperceptibly,  almost  secretly.  I  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  tears  came  to  my  eyes.  I  may  be 
foolish;  I  am  more  susceptible  even  than  I 
admit:  but  I  felt  suddenly  as  if,  after  a  long 
sight  of  humanity,  I  were  looking  on  the  bloom  of 
an  immortal  face.  SINBAD. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  181 

Weltewreden,  Java. 
—  December,  19 — . 
Deaf  Einbad: 

All  the  hot  ride  down  to  the  coast  country,  poor 
Miss  Hale-Hale  lay  with  her  head  in  my  lap. 
She  had  insisted  on  going,  as  she  wished  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  Batavia  the  next  day.  By  the  time 
we  reached  Weltewreden  the  air  was  swooning 
and  I  felt  almost  as  ill  as  she  looked.  We  drove 
to  the  best  hotel.  Of  course  it  proved  to  be  full, 
so  we  had  to  content  ourselves  with  a  second-best. 
As  I  sat  before  our  pavilion  while  Miss  Hale- 
Hale  undressed,  I  found  what  I  could  see  of 
Weltewreden  from  that  vantage-point  mediocre 
after  the  extreme  exclusiveness  of  Buitenzorg. 

Suddenly  a  carriage  known  as  a  " milord" 
rattled  into  the  compound.  The  occupant  was 
of  massive  size  and  exhaled  great  vapors  of 
smoke.  "Brenti  [Stop],"  he  grunted  as  he 
climbed  ponderously  out.  It  was  Captain  Rog- 
gevene  of  the  Suydam.  Bowing  profoundly,  he 
seated  himself  beside  me. 

"And  how  likes  she  Batavia?"  he  asked,  when 
our  first  greetings  were  over. 

"I  have  only  just  come;  I  can't  tell,"  I  replied. 
"But  the  rest  of  your  island  is  an  enchantment." 


182  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"So!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  what  does  she 
see!" 

I  enumerated  the  various  things  I  had  done, 
while  he  repeated  "So!  So!"  finally  adding,  as 
he  produced  a  large  silk  handkerchief  to  mop  his 
face,  "But  so  hot  it  is — far  too  hot — some  day  I 
die  here." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not!" 

"She  hopes  I  die  not?"  he  exclaimed.  "That 
is  improbable.  But  tell  me,  has  she  in  Java  been 
to  a  club  yet!" 

"No,"  I  admitted. 

"Not  to  any  club!" 

"Not  to  any  club." 

He  immediately  rose  and  took  out  his  watch. 

"Go  now  quickly  and  dress,  so  we  go  together 
to  the  Concordia,  where  is  dancing  to-night.  I 
also  dress  and  return  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"Evening  dress?"  I  asked. 

He  considered  the  matter.  "Better  so,"  he 
replied.  Then,  bowing,  he  climbed  again  into  his 
milord. 

I  rushed  to  the  pavilion,  and  found  Miss  Hale- 
Hale  sleeping  soundly  behind  her  net.  For  fear 
of  waking  her,  I  undressed  in  the  dark,  lost  my 
way  to  the  bathing-houses,  came  back  and  could 
not  find  my  clothes,  tangled  my  hair,  splashed 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  183 

powder  indiscriminately  over  myself,  and  finally, 
at  the  rattle  of  the  milord,  emerged  very  flushed 
and  uncertain  as  to  whether  I  was  properly 
hooked  or  not.  To  cover  all  deficiencies  of  toi- 
lette, I  draped  myself  in  the  silver  scarf,  the  size 
of  a  table-cloth,  that  Mrs.  Thompson  gave  me  on 
leaving  Sydney.  As  for  the  Captain,  he  was  im- 
maculately white  as  to  clothes  and  extremely  red 
as  to  face. 

We  drove  off,  stopping  to  take  a  momentary 
glimpse,  in  the  dusk,  of  an  old  grass-grown  fort 
of  the  Dutch  East  India  Company.  Bed  flam- 
boyants hung  over  the  walls,  and  in  the  moats 
bloomed  pink  lotus-flowers.  It  was  dark  when 
we  reached  the  Concordia.  We  dismounted,  and 
the  Captain  ceremoniously  and  solemnly  led  me 
in.  He  seemed  to  think  that  he  could  not  be  too 
grave  on  such  an  occasion,  and  no  doubt  he  was 
right,  for  the  people  to  whom  he  bowed  were 
taking  things  with  equal  seriousness.  In  such 
an  atmosphere  all  possible  chatter  died  on  my 
tongue. 

Inside  the  club  building  he  led  me  to  a  large 
room,  where  on  the  wall  hung  a  life-size  portrait 
of  Wilhelmina.  She  was  glitteringly  dressed, 
but  looked  ill,  homely,  and  pathetic.  It  was  on 
my  tongue  to  exclaim,  "Poor  thing!"  when  the 


184  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

Captain,  pointing  to  the  picture,  said  impres- 
sively : 1 1  This  is  the  Queen  of  all  the  Netherlands, 
and  of  India  besides.  Is  she  not  very  beautiful  f ' ' 

"Ah,  very!"  I  exclaimed  (for  one  does  not 
tamper  with  loyalty  like  that).  "Indeed, 
yes." 

The  Captain  turned  to  beam  at  me.  "So!" 
he  said. 

"Very  beautiful!"  I  repeated.  I  had  my  in- 
stantaneous reward. 

The  Captain  nodded  as  if  confirming  an  impres- 
sion. "What  a  resemblance  is  between  these 
two!"  he  exclaimed.  "Almost  as  sisters  they 
are." 

"Gracious!"  I  cried,  on  the  verge  of  laughter; 
but  one  more  glance  at  my  glittering  shawl,  and 
the  evidence  was  complete. 

"Almost  might  the  same  blood  flow  in  each!" 
he  cried.  He  was  not  to  be  torn  from  his  con- 
templation till  he  had  looked  from  me  to  the  un- 
happy Wilhelmina  many  times.  "Wonderful!" 
he  said  at  last,  and  with  great  ceremony,  as  was 
due  an  almost  sister  of  royalty,  he  offered  me  his 
arm. 

In  the  garden  we  seated  ourselves  at  a  small 
iron  table,  and  whatever  conversation  may 
have  been  going  on  at  the  tables  around  us 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  185 

abruptly  died  to  silence.  Dozens  of  hands 
paused  in  the  act  of  conveying  spoons  or  glasses 
to  mouths,  and  dozens  of  cold  gray  eyes  were 
leveled  at  us.  The  Captain  seemed  to  relish  these 
attentions.  He  pondered  long  and  carefully  the 
menu-card,  knitted  his  brows,  and  pursed  his  lips. 
" PlombieresP"  he  asked  me. 

"That  would  be  delightful,"  I  said.  So  he 
wrote,  "Plombieres  framboises0"  and  signed  his 
name  with  a  flourish. 

The  music  that  I  hoped  would  distract  some  of 
the  attention  from  us  began  at  last,  and  some  chil- 
dren of  fourteen  or  fifteen  danced  on  the  concrete 
floor  under  the  trees.  The  Captain  assured  me 
that  the  band  was  the  finest  in  all  Asia. 

1  i  They  play  now  a  French  waltz, ' '  he  said,  and 
repeated  the  words  aloud  so  that  I  might  the  more 
appreciate  it: 

"C'est  la  valse  brune 
Ire  chevalier  de  la  lune 
Chacqu'un  avec  son  chacqu 'une, " 

and  so  forth. 

When  the  plombieres  appeared,  the  Captain 
leaned  toward  me  and  said  mysteriously:  "It 
comes  to  me  that  she  makes  for  herself  a  conquest 
in  Java." 


186  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

' 'Really!"  I  exclaimed.  "But  how  could  such 
a  thing  possibly  reach  you?" 

"So  travels  news  in  India,  almost  do  the  boys 
of  my  ship  tell  of  it.  Many  have  regret  this,  but 
none  can  stop  it.  Besides,  in  this  case  it  is  an 
official. ' ' 

"Really!" 

"Officials  in  themselves  are  good,  but  this  man 
is  also  a  Jongheer.  Much  is  before  him." 

He  looked  to  one  side,  and  I,  following  his 
glance,  saw  a  pale,  slender,  dark,  handsome 
Dutchman  (if  such  a  combination  can  possibly  be 
imagined)  threading  his  way  among  the  tables 
and  peering  over  the  tops  of  his  pince-nez  as  he 
came.  Every  eye  was  on  him.  Some  people 
bowed  to  him,  and  murmurs  followed  his  progress 
like  the  wash  in  the  wake  of  a  ship. 

"See,  now  comes  the  conquest,"  said  the 
Captain  calmly. 

"Why,  it  is  the  Secretary!"  I  exclaimed. 

"So!"  said  the  Captain. 

When  the  Secretary  reached  us  he  said  "Good 
evening"  and  bowed.  The  Captain  and  I  also 
said  "Good  evening"  and  also  bowed.  Then  he 
and  the  Captain,  who  had  met  before,  bowed 
again  separately. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  187 

"May  I  sit  with  you?"  he  asked. 

"Please  do,"  we  said. 

As  he  deliberately  sat  down,  a  little  stir  went 
over  the  surrounding  tables.  There  was  a 
general  air  of  breathless  attention. 

"I  am  surprised,"  said  the  Secretary,  "to  find 
you  with  Captain  Boggevene.  I  did  not  know  he 
had  the  honor  of  your  acquaintance." 

"Much  surprise  awaits  you,  then,"  said  the 
Captain;  "for  in  Batavia  she  is  to  be  found 
always  with  me." 

"Captain!"  I  cried. 

He  gave  us  both  a  sternly  parental  look.  "I 
am  her  guardian  here,"  he  explained  with 
dignity.  "On  my  ship  she  comes,  and  I  must 
look  after  her." 

"I  hope,"  said  the  Secretary,  "that  the  dear 
young  lady  finds  this  arrangement  as  congenial 
as  it  appears  to  you." 

"You  have  both  been  so  kind  tor  me,"  I  inter- 
rupted hastily,  "that  I  do  not  see  how  I  could 
have  got  through  Java  without  either  of  you. ' ' 

They  both  rose  slightly  from  their  chairs  and 
bowed,  to  an  accompanying  murmur  of  approval 
from  the  onlookers.  The  Secretary  then  ex- 
amined carefully  his  menu-card,  and  appeared  to 


188  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

find  nothing  there  to  please  him.  Looking  very 
plainly  bored,  he  wrote  an  order  and  turned  to 
me. 

' 'Do  you  really  find  this  place  amusing?"  he 
asked. 

"Extremely  amusing,"  I  replied;  "a  most  de- 
lightful place." 

"Then  you  have  never  been  to  the  Harmonie 
Club?"  he  asked. 

It  was  plain  that  if  Batavia  boasted  two  clubs 
they  were  bound  to  be  rivals.  This  was  there- 
fore dangerous  ground,  so  I  asked  politely:  "Do 
you  belong  to  the  Harmonie  too?" 

"I  belong  to  many,  many  clubs  in  Java,"  he 
replied  calmly,  "but  the  Harmonie  is  the  most 
amusing";  and  he  made  it  apparent  that  he  did 
not  find  the  Captain's  club  in  the  least  amusing. 

"Officials,"  said  the  Captain,  growing  purple, 
"always  belong  to  many  clubs.  They  are 
admitted  everywhere,  regardless  of  merit." 
Then  an  ominous  silence  fell,  in  which  the  Cap- 
tain grew  more  purple  and  the  Secretary  more 
calm. 

Just  then  a  man  rose  abruptly  from  one  of  the 
near-by  tables  and  came  over  to  us.  He  was  blond 
and  sallow  and  voluble.  The  secretary  took  hia 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  189 

outstretched  hand  but  did  not  rise  to  greet  him. 

"Oh,  fous  foila,  mon  cher!"  exclaimed  the  new- 
comer in  atrocious  French.  "Che  fous  ai  chuste- 
ment  fu — et  Captain  Roggevene  n'est-ce-pas? 
Moi,  che  feins  d'arriver  de  Padang  hier." 

He  looked  around  expectantly  and  let  his  eye 
rest  on  me,  but  the  Secretary  made  no  move 
toward  an  introduction.  If  we  had  attracted 
interest  before,  we  quite  absorbed  it  now;  the 
very  Malay  boys  balanced  themselves  on  their 
bare  toes  to  get  a  look  at  us. 

After  a  moment  the  Secretary  inquired, 
absolutely  without  enthusiasm:  "Vous  avez 
bien  reussi?" 

"Mais  oui,  mais  oui  a  merfeille !' '  cried  the  new- 
comer. "Ch'ai  tant  de  choses  a  fous  dire." 

"Plus  tard,"  said  the  Secretary;  then  added 
deliberately:  "Je  ne  peut  pas  vous  presenter  a 
Mademoiselle,  car  elle  parle  ni  Franc.ais,  ni 
Hollandais,  ni  Malayoe." 

"Mon  Dieu,  quelle  dommage!"  exclaimed  the 
young  man,  by  now  in  a  sweat  of  embarrassment 
"Anglaise  alors?  Je  la  croyais  Franchise.  Oh, 
ces  Anglaises!  Et  moi  qui  ne  les  comprends 
pas!  Mon  Dieu!  Au  revoir,  mon  cher.  Bonne 
chance!  Bonne  chance  I" 


190  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

He  returned  to  his  table,  where  he  explained 
the  whole  encounter  volubly  to  his  friends. 

The  Captain  looked  with  rather  more  approval 
at  the  calm  face  of  the  Secretary.  "I  like  not 
that  fellow,"  he  said  solemnly;  "you  were  well 
to  dismiss  him.*' 

"I  thought,"  said  the  Secretary,  "that  your 
instincts  as  a  guardian  would  be  outraged  were 
I  to  present  him  to  the  dear  young  lady." 

"But  you  knew  I  understood  all  you  said!"  I 
demanded. 

"Assuredly." 

The  Captain  quite  beamed  on  the  Secretary. 
"Let  us  all  have  another  plombiere  together,"  he 
said. 

True  to  his  word  that  I  was  to  be  seen  in 
Batavia  with  none  but  him,  the  Captain  appeared 
at  an  early  hour  this  morning  in  a  rattling  milord 
with  a  sleepy  driver.  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  I,  with 
the  Explorer  and  the  Professor,  were  eating  tiny 
Javanese  eggs,  and  drinking  coffee  flavored  with 
buffalo  milk,  on  the  dining-room  veranda.  Our 
conversations  had  a  way  of  languishing  of  late, 
and  I  was  glad  when  the  Captain  broke  in  on  our 
silence.  He  sat  below  a  moment,  waiting  till  I 
should  finish.  The  Explorer  had  made  the  half- 
hearted suggestion  that  all  four  of  us  drive  to- 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJTNN  191 

gether  over  Batavia,  and  it  pleased  me  to  refuse 
this  invitation.  I  announced  that  I  would  now 
accompany  the  Captain. 

"Perhaps  we  shall  meet  you  somewhere  this 
morning,"  the  Explorer  suggested  politely,  but 
I  only  smiled  absently  as  I  wiped  my  lips  with  my 
napkin  and  left  them. 

Now,  why  did  I  do  that,  Hinbadl 

"Because,"  you  say,  "you  are  an  exacting, 
selfish,  unreasonable,  coquettish  little — !" 

Enough,  my  dear  Hinbad;  you  have  made  it 
quite  clear. 

Now,  as  to  the  Captain.  When  we  were 
rattling  along  the  big  canal  of  Weltewreden,  which 
is  so  reminiscent  of  Holland,  he  said  to  me :  "  Ten 
minutes  she  makes  me  wait,  so  that  I  have 
apoplexy  by  the  sun.  So  hot  it  is ! " 

"What  can  we  do  for  you?"  I  asked. 

"In  Batavia  I  take  many  cups  of  tea,  that  I 
transpire  freely — providing,"  he  added,  "that  I 
live  so  long." 

I  ventured  to  hope  he  would  manage  to  prolong 
life  as  far  as  Batavia.  In  the  shade  of  a  great 
grove  of  palms  along  the  Jacatra  road,  he 
paled  to  normal  pinkness,  and  later  waved  his 
hand  suddenly  to  the  right. 

"This  is  the  house  of  Peter  Eberfeldt,"  he  said. 


192  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

I  saw  indeed  a  garden,  a  wall,  and  a  gate  sur- 
mounted by  a  skull,  but  no  house. 

"I  see  no  house,"  I  said.  "What  happened  to 
it?  And  above  all  what  happened  to  Peter  Eber- 
feldt,  if  it  is  indeed  he  who  adorns  his  own  gate 
in  this  tasteful  fashion?" 

"Peter  Eberfeldt,"  said  the  Captain,  "was 
once  a  man,  as  you  see  by  what  remains  of  him. 
Holland  his  father  was,  Malayoe  his  mother. 
Once  he  tries  to  betray  the  colony  to  the 
Malayoes.  He  is  capture,  they  draw  and  quarter 
him,  and  raze  his  house  to  the  ground.  So  perish 
all  traitors." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  hoped  the  lesson  had 
sunk  in,  but  of  course  I  tried  to  defend  the  un- 
lucky Peter  Eberfeldt.  •" After  all,  he  was  a  half- 
caste;  perhaps  they  didn't  treat  him  well,"  I 
said. 

"So  perish  all  traitors !"  reiterated  the  Captain 
firmly,  and  that  settled  the  matter. 

When  we  reached  the  lower  town  the  sun  was 
powerful  overhead,  and  in  the  Pinang  gate  the 
red  eyes  of  the  bronze  warriors  glowed  like  live 
coals.  A  little  beyond  lay  an  old  cannon  half 
embedded  in  the  earth,  with  fading  flowers  and 
leaves  scattered*  over  it.  The  Captain  shouted 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  193 

"Brenti!"  very  loud  in  his  driver 's  ear,  and  in- 
sisted that  I  get  out  to  look  at  it. 

"This  cannon  has  also  a  name,"  he  said,  "and 
Meriam  it  is.  Moreover,  she  has  also  a  husband, 
which  is  another  cannon,  but  the  other  cannon  is 
not  here  (like  a  good  husband).  Now,  on  one  day 
comes  this  husband  cannon  walking  to  meet 
Meriam,  his  wife,  and  on  that  day  will  Java  re- 
turn to  the  native  rule — or  so  says  the  native. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  it  is  likely?"  I  asked. 

"It  is  a  husband's  duty  to  walk  to  his  wife," 
he  announced,  "as  it  is  hers  to  wait  patiently  for 
him." 

"Poor  Meriam,"  I  said.  "I  rm  afraid  she  will 
wait." 

"I  think  that,"  he  assured  me,  and  we  drove 
on. 

It  was  here  in  these  grassy  lanes  and  com- 
pounds that  the  old  castle  of  the  Dutch  East  India 
Company  dominated  the  roadstead,  now  too 
shallow  for  modern  boats.  The  tepid  water  re- 
flects many  old  warehouses,  dwellings,  and 
counting-houses  with  great  open  rooms  on  the 
lower  floors,  and  above  those  carved  lattices  of 
dark  native  woods,  where  now  one  sometimes  sees 
the  fluttering  papers  and  bright  rags  of  a  poor 


194  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

Chinese  occupant.  But  under  these  arcades,  in 
these  rooms  and  wharves,  were  once  piled  great 
bales  of  spice  ready  for  the  long  and  perilous 
route  to  Europe.  In  this  roadstead  came  ships 
from  Ambon,  from  Celebes,  from  Banda  of  the 
11  gold-bearing  trees,"  from  Sumatra,  Aroe,  and 
Timor.  How  redolent  the  air  must  have  been 
with  odors  of  cinnamon,  nutmeg,  pepper,  and 
cloves !  How  it  must  have  mounted  to  the  heads 
of  the  somber  Dutch  who  walked  here!  What 
power,  wealth,  and  romance  it  meant  to  men  who 
at  home  were  plain  burghers  or  less,  but  here 
lords  of  the  golden  trade ! 

"I  tell,"  said  the  Captain  obligingly,  "how  the 
Hollanders  come  first  to  India.  Very  long  ago 
ships  leave  every  year  the  port  of  Lisboa  in 
Portugal.  When  the  ship  comes  to  the  heavy 
surf  at  the  Tagus  mouth,  then  opens  the  captain 
charts  sealed  and  given  to  him  of  the  king.  But 
there  also  await  him  many  small  ships  of  other 
countries,  England,  France,  and  also  Holland. 
As  he  sails  southward,  following  his  chart,  they 
follow  him,  but  he  is  more  able  than  they.  Some- 
times he  goes  a  false  direction,  returning  to  his 
course  by  night,  and  sometimes  he  hides  all  day 
in  a  river  mouth  his  chart  alone  tells.  But  one 
by  one  they  leave  him  and  he  sails  on  past  Loanda, 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  195 

round  the  Cape  of  Buon  Esperanza  to  Mozam- 
bique, across  to  Goa  Dourada,  to  Malacca,  and  all 
islands  beyond. 

"  Later  lie  returns  low  in  the  water,  heavy  with 
spice,  till  one  day  he  sails  again  the  surf  at  the 
Tagus  mouth.  So  is  the  chart  returned  always  to 
the  king,  and  the  square  tower  of  Vasco  da  Gama 
at  Belem  is  ever  full  of  treasure.  But  the  Portu- 
guese cares  not  for  the  task  of  sending  his  spices 
over  Europe,  and  this  does  he  give  to  our  Holland 
ships,  so  we  become  by  name  'Wagoners  of 
Europe. ' 

"But  meanwhile  long  do  we  suffer  the  cruelty 
of  Spain,  till  finally  we  suffer  it  no  more,  and  one 
day  we  cast  them  out — so!" 

The  Captain  blew  imaginary  dust  from  his 
spotless  sleeve  to  illustrate  the  supreme  ease  of 
this  accomplishment. 

' f So !  And  they,  being  angry,  will  not  permit 
Portugal  to  give  us  trade,  and  we  are  no  more 
wagoners.  Moreover,  we  are  small  and  Spain 
girdles  the  earth  so!"  Another  all-embracing 
gesture.  "So  tell  me  what  we  must  do!" 

He  looked  at  me  suddenly.  "What  did  you 
do?"  I  asked. 

"I  tell  you.  In  Holland  is  a  man  of  the  sea, 
knowing  many  routes  of  many  trades,  and  Hout- 


196  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

man  his  name  is.  He  becomes  willingly  a 
prisoner  to  the  Portuguese,  and  is  many  years  in 
Lisboa,  listening  to  merchants'  talk,  and  to 
soldiers  and  officials  who  return  from  India. 
Angry  he  becomes  that  so  much  knowledge  he 
should  know  not,  till  after  years  the  Portuguese 
begin  to  say  of  him,  'See,  now  comes  this 
Hollander.  So  pleasant,  so  stupid  he  is,  fear  not 
to  speak  before  him. '  And  at  last  one  day  finds 
he  a  chart,  the  chart  for  which  he  waited,  the 
route  of  Vasco  da  Gama  of  the  Cape  to  India !" 

The  Captain  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully,  and  it 
occurred  to  me  that  the  pleasant  but  iron-willed 
Houtman  might  not  have  been  so  very  different 
from  himself. 

"What  happened  next?"  I  demanded. 

"The  rest  is  easy,"  he  said.  "Letters  he 
writes  secretly  to  Holland  telling  of  this,  where, 
it  being  yet  a  poor  country,  all  the  merchants 
together  make  a  sum  for  his  ransom.  The  Portu- 
guese, knowing  nothing,  release  him,  and  soon 
after  puts  a  fleet  of  ships  down  the  Maas  and 
spreads  sail  by  the  south.  So  come  we  to  India ! 
Not  for  spice  only,  as  the  greedy  Portuguese,  but 
to  cultivate,  to  govern,  to  teach.  See,  now,  the 
Malayoe,  for  instance,  how  is  he  improved!" 

The  Captain  indicated  the  dejected  native  on 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  197 

the  seat  in  front  of  us  by  a  thump  on  the  shoulder. 
I  was  prepared  to  argue  hotly  the  altruistic 
motives  of  the  Dutch  East  India  Company  and 
those  who  followed  them,  when  suddenly,  with  a 
hiss  and  a  roar,  great  slants  of  silver  rain  beat 
about  us.  Only  for  a  few  minutes  had  the  sky 
been  overcast,  but  now  the  streets  dissolved  in 
puddles,  people  scrambled  for  shelter,  and  water 
streamed  from  every  roof.  The  sun  above  the 
rain,  together  with  the  steam  from  the  hot  earth, 
blended  in  that  unearthly  white  glamour  of  tropic 
downpours.  As  our  hood  sheltered  us  not  much 
more  than  paper,  we  left  horse  and  driver  to  their 
fate  and  got  into  the  nearest  shop.  We  stood  in 
the  doorway  till  a  little  old  Javanese  woman 
emerged  from  the  dark  behind  us  and  set  two  cane 
chairs  for  us  just  back  from  the  inundated  area 
around  the  door.  We  sat  down  to  wait,  and  as 
my  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  gloom  of  the  shop 
I  began  to  catch  gleams  of  gold  and  brass,  of 
stiff  silks  and  polished  woods. 

"Do  let  rs  look  around,"  I  said;  and  the 
Captain  obediently  rose  and  followed  me. 

"All  that  she  likes, "  he  announced,  "I  must 
buy  for  her. ' r 

* '  Captain ! "  I  cried.  ' '  If  you  say  that  I  can 't 
look  at  anything." 


198  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

" Better  she  looks,"  he  insisted,  "or  I  buy  what 
she  likes  not."  And  he  proceeded,  as  a  pre- 
liminary, to  purchase  a  capacious  basket,  which 
he  hung  over  one  arm. 

I  looked  eagerly  about  me,  but  admired  nothing 
verbally,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  think  I  was 
not  pleased  with  anything.  But  the  old  woman, 
seeing  a  possible  customer,  dragged  out  endless 
objects  from  every  corner — belts  and  fans  of  cun- 
ningly cut  buffalo  hide,  painted  and  gilded,  sirih 
sets  of  red  gold  containing  all  the  necessaries  for 
betel-chewing,  krises  from  all  parts  of  the 
archipelago,  ranging  from  huge  cleavers  to  seven- 
waved  blades  with  hilts  of  diamond-studded  ivory ; 
and  she  showed  us  jewelry  of  which  my  ill-gotten 
hair  ornament  was  a  good  specimen,  a  rare  zodiac 
cup  from  the  Tenegger  highlands,  strange  articles 
of  furniture  from  the  demolished  house  of  a  noble 
of  Soerakarta,  carved  in  teak,  ebony,  and  ivory, 
with  blooming  paints  and  gildings  half  obliter- 
ated. There  were  reed  and  bell  instruments  from 
the  Soendanese  highlands  whose  melodious 
tellings  and  sighings  filled  the  shop  as  she 
handled  them,  and  sarongs,  gold  and  brown  batik 
of  Java,  gold  woven  Sumatra  cloth,  and  stuffs  of 
carnelian  and  wine  and  purple  from  Celebes. 

From  the  midst  of  these  the  Captain  made  his 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  199 

selections,  picking  out  whatever  pleased  him  till 
his  basket  was  full. 

11  Captain !""  I  stammered  at  last.  "This  is 
not — correct. ' ' 

"So?"  he  said.  "I  tell  her.  When  she  first 
comes  on  my  ship,  she  wishes  to  eat  a  mango;  is 
it  not  so?  And  she  cuts  it  with  a  knife,  so — as 
one  cuts  apples  in  Holland,  so  that  it  wets  all  of 
her.  But  I  show  how  rings  are  cut,  and  the  center 
between  peeled,  so  that  she  eats  it  without 
damage.  For  one  thing  is  correct  in  Holland  and 
another  in  Java.  And  this,"  he  finished,  indi- 
cating his  basket,  "is  correct  in  Java." 

The  old  Javanese  woman  here  introduced  what 
promised  to  be  a  diversion  but  proved  to  be  merely 
a  new  complication.  "Toean!"  she  called  softly, 
•and  we  saw  she  held  in  her  hand  a  small  tube  of 
bamboo  with  a  stopper  in  one  end.  Eemoving 
this,  she  shook  a  little  dust  on  to  her  palm,  sniffed 
it,  sighed,  -smiled  craftily  at  the  Captain,  and 
went  through  a  pantomime  incomprehensible  to 
me,  except  that  she  was  obviously  inviting  him  to 
take  some,  rolling  her  eyes  at  me  the  while  in  an 
alarming  manner.  The  Captain  grew  very  pink. 

"What  is  this?"  I  asked. 

"Very  foolish  it  is,"  he  said  severely. 

"But  what?"  I  insisted. 


200  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Powder  for  drinking. " 

"Sleeping  powder?" 

"No." 

"Surely  not  poison?" 

"No." 

"But  you  don't  mean  it  is  a  love  potion?" 

"It  is  not,"  said  he  emphatically;  "but  so  she 
says  it  is." 

I  was  divided  between  curiosity  and  unseemly 
mirth.  I  wanted  to  laugh,  but  I  also  wanted  to 
ask  just  what  one  did  with  this,  what  kind  of 
people  used  it,  or  whether  it  ever  produced  any 
sort  of  result. 

The  Captain,  however,  paid  for  his  basketful 
and  led  me  sternly  to  the  door.  The  rain  had 
ceased  suddenly  and  the  sun  was  out.  Our  car- 
riage had  reappeared  from  some  unknown  shelter. 

"We  go  now,"  he  said;  "but  we  buy  no  love 
potions,  for  she  must  not  have  them.  Already  in 
one  day  she  makes  enough  trouble  it  takes  a 
patient  God  a  whole  year  to  undo. ' ' 

This  afternoon  there  -was  a  fire  across  the  canal, 
and  every  one,  roused  from  his  siesta,  ran  out  in 
negligee  to  see  the  excitement.  Miss  Hale-Hale 
and  I  delayed  to  dress  ourselves,  so  that  when  we 
finally  got  out  »we  could  not  get  anywhere  near  the 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  201 

fire  for  the  throngs  of  natives.  However,  we  saw 
the  Secretary  in  pale-blue  silk  pajamas,  with 
another  Dutchman,  standing  on  the  tiled  roof  of  a 
smoking  house.  They  were  directing  a  few 
natives,  who  worked  frenziedly  to  break  in  the 
roof  to  make  an  opening  for  the  hose.  We 
watched  them,  expecting  their  engulfment  at  any 
moment;  but,  just  at  the  last,  they  stepped 
leisurely  on  to  a  lower  neighboring  roof  and 
jumped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

The  din  of  the  fire  spoiled  our  siesta,  and  that 
night  I  was  tired.  But,  whatever  the  Secretary's 
exertions  had  been,  he  was  not  tired.  After 
eight-o'clock  dinner  he  sat  before  our  pavilion 
with  Miss  Hale-Hale  and  me,  the  Explorer,  the 
Professor,  and  the  Captain.  We  did  not  seem 
to  get  along  together  as  smoothly  as  we  might; 
yet  it  was  late  when  the  Professor  finally  de- 
cided to  retire.  Miss  Hale-Hale  shortly  after 
withdrew,  but,  to.  my  amazement,  the  Explorer 
made  no  move  to  leave,  but  talked  on  pleasantly  to 
us  all. 

It  was  a  hot  night,  with  moon  and  stars  ap- 
pearing and  disappearing  among  black  clouds,  no 
air  stirring.  The  Explorer  pointed  out  various 
of  the  dazzling  constellations  to  us  as  they  ap- 
peared. The  Captain  occasionally  threw  him  a 


202  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

correction  or  comment.  The  Secretary  did  not 
speak. 

In  the  manner  of  the  two  Dutchmen  there  was 
something  of  expectancy  and  resolution  that  was 
disconcerting.  They  looked  with  no  friendly  eye 
at  the  Explorer,  nor  for  that  matter  at  each  other. 
The  Captain  smoked  copiously  and  the  Secre- 
tary said  nothing.  About  eleven  the  Explorer 
suddenly  arose  and,  with  an  ironic  smile  of  com- 
prehension, bade  us  good  night  and  withdrew. 

But  the  two  Dutchmen  did  not  move.  In  fact, 
anything  to  exceed  the  immobility  of  their  de- 
meanor can  not  be  imagined.  The  clouds 
suddenly  opened  and  the  moon  shone  over  the 
roof  of  a  neighboring  pavilion,  flooding  the  com- 
pound with  greenish  light.  The  Captain  blew 
vast  clouds  of  smoke,  and  the  Secretary  sat  with 
folded  arms,  gazing  at  the  tips  of  his  crossed 
feet.  Presently  he  said  to  the  Captain: 

"You  do  not  return  to  your  ship  at  night  ?" 

"I  do  not  return  to-night,"  said  the  Captain 
dryly. 

"How  unfortunate!"  murmured  the  Secre- 
tary. 

"Why?"  demanded  the  Captain. 

"Oh — accidents — with  you  not  on  board  your 
ship — might — ah,  blow  up," 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  203 

"So,"  said  the  Captain.  "But  if  my  ship 
blows  up  when  I  am  on  her,  that  is  fortunate  ? ' ' 

The  Secretary  smiled,  but  made  no  effort  to 
climb  out  of  the  trap.  He  turned  to  me. 

"And  to-morrow  you  leave  Java!" 

"I  am  afraid  so." 

"You  would  wish  to  stay?" 

"It  would  be  very  pleasant,"  I  admitted. 

"Stay,  then,"  said  the  Captain. 

"But  that  would  be  impossible." 

"How  is  this  impossible?"  cried  the  Secretary. 
"Stay  here  with  one  of  us.  For  I  am  not 
married,  and  he" — pointing  to  the  Captain — "he 
says  he  is  not. ' ' 

"It  is  true,"  declared  the  Captain  wrathfully; 
"I  had  not  said  it  else." 

"But  do  you  mean,"  I  cried,  "that  you  wish  me 
to  marry  one  of  you  ? ' ' 

"To  marry  both  is  not  permitted,"  corrected 
the  Captain. 

We  all  began  to  laugh. 

"But  how  could  I  possibly  choose  between 
you — " 

"With  both  here  it  should  be  easy,"  said  the 
Secretary;  "you  have  only  to  look  at  us." 

"So,"  agreed  the  Captain,  blowing  out  a  semi- 
concealing  cloud  of  smoke. 


204  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

"You  think  this  is  not  serious/'  the  Secretary 
continued,  "because  we  say  this  in  each  other's 
presence.  Each  would  prefer  to  say  it  alone,  but 
neither  will  go. ' ' 

"But  I  don't  want  either  of  you  to  go,"  I  ex- 
claimed, "till  you  both  go  together!"  (This  was 
tactful,  was  it  not,  Hinbad?  Could  you  have 
done  better?  I  doubt  it.) 

The  Secretary  stared  at  the  tips  of  his  shoes; 
the  Captain  blew  no  more  clouds. 

"Then  you  will  not  stay  with  either  of  us?" 
said  the  Secretary  sadly. 

"I  can  not,"  I  murmured. 

The  Captain  cast  his  cigar  away,  and  rose. 

"Come,"  he  said;  "she  has  dismissed  us.  We 
go  now." 

The  Secretary  rose. 

"But,"  I  said,  "I  shall  never  forget  the  ex- 
treme kindness  of  both  of  you.  I  shall  always 
think  of  you  and  Java  together."  (This  sort  of 
funeral  wreath  has  to  be  given — you  realize  that, 
Hinbad.) 

We  bowed  deeply  to  one  another,  and  they 
linked  arms  in  a  friendly  fashion. 

* '  Forget  him  if  you  must, ' '  said  the  Secretary. 
Then,  leaning  toward  me,  he  added  in  a  lower 
'but,  dear  young  lady,  do  not  forget  me!" 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  205 

As  I  afterward  sat  in  my  pavilion  beside  the 
soundly  sleeping  Miss  Hale-Hale,  I  had  the 
curious  detached  feeling  of  being  already 
thousands  of  miles  away,  and  the  royal  palms  I 
could  see  through  my  swinging  door  against  the 
green  moonlight  seemed  memories  rather  than 
realities.  SINBAD. 

On  board  S.  S.  Konig  Willem. 
—  December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 

I  could  scarcely  speak  on  the  long  hot  way  from 
Weltewreden  to  Batavia  and  from  Batavia  down 
to  Tandjong  Priok.  There,  even  amid  the  con- 
fusion of  embarking,  I  received  a  shock  at  the 
small  size  and  dirtiness  of  the  boat  in  which  we 
were  to  sail. 

"It  will  be  only  two  days,"  said  the  Explorer 
cheerily ;  but  the  cheer  had  gone  out  of  me. 

I  stood  with  the  Secretary  and  the  Captain, 
who  had  come  to  see  us  off,  in  the  shade  of  one  of 
the  funnels  on  board,  and  could  think  of  nothing 
to  say  to  them.  The  wharf  and  decks  swarmed 
with  coolies  carrying  luggage,  oily  water  lapped 
the  sides,  and  all  Tandjong  Priok  steamed  and 
stank  in  the  sun.  The  Secretary  handed  me  a 
package  that  I  was  to  open  after  the  boat  sailed. 


206  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

Finally  the  ail-ashore  bugle  sounded,  and  they 
said  good-by,  bowing  for  the  last  time  in  their 
stately  Dutch  fashion.  As  they  stood  on  the 
dock,  watching  us  sail  out,  the  Secretary,  with 
a  sudden  dazzling  disregard  of  all  Dutch  pro- 
prieties, blew  me  a  kiss  with  his  hand.  I  saw 
them  turn  off  together,  the  Secretary  wiping  his 
pince-nez  with  his  silk  handkerchief. 

I  went  into  my  cabin,  which  swam  in  sunlight, 
and  there  I  began  at  once  to  dread  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  (or,  more  correctly,  from  the 
pit  of  my  stomach)  the  arrival  at  Singapore.  I 
threw  myself  on  the  bunk  and  contemplated, 
almost  for  the  first  time  with  any  real  serious- 
ness, the  difficulties  and  emergencies  that  there 
awaited  me.  I  won't  tell  you  all  that  occurred 
to  me,  for  by  the  time  this  reaches  you  it  will  be 
well  over  or  past  mending.  Suffice  it  to  say  that, 
while  at  one  time  it  had  seemed  clear  to  me  that 
nothing  could  go  wrong,  it  now  became  clear  to 
me  that  nothing  could  possibly  go  right.  This 
distressing  conclusion  arrived  at,  I  dressed  for 
dinner. 

We  English-speaking  folk,  Miss  Hale-Hale,  the 
Professor,  the  Explorer,  and  I,  were  put  at  a  table 
by  ourselves,  and  the  rest  of  the  passengers,  who 
all  seemed  to  know  one  another  in  the  friendliest 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  207 

fashion,  regarded  us  with  some  appearance  of 
hostility.  Perhaps  this,  with  the  heat  and  heavy 
food,  affected  us,  for  we  sat  silent  till  we  went 
up  on  deck  for  the  liqueurs  and  coffee. 

There  was  no  moon  as  yet,  but  the  ship  swam 
through  a  sea  of  phosphorus.  We  sat  near  the 
rail  to  catch  any  breath  that  might  be  stirring, 
while  the  Dutch  passengers  stood  chatting  in 
groups. 

1 * They  don't  seem  to  care  for  us,"  I  remarked. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Hale-Hale.  "I  have  always 
thought  it  rather  nice  when  foreigners  take  a  dis- 
like to  me;  I  feel  that  they  instinctively  know 
their  place." 

No  one  remarked  on  this  extraordinary  state- 
ment, and  she  immediately  turned  amiably  to  the 
Explorer. 

"You  said  you  were  riding  one  summer  at 
Doxenham;  I  hear  they  have  the  jolliest  kennels 
there." 

"Well,  rather!"  he  exclaimed. 

"The  General  says  that  his  hounds — "  and  so 
forth  and  so  on. 

I  turned  to  the  Professor,  who  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  more  interested  in  this  dense  English 
talk  than  I  was.  He  seemed  sunk  in  highly  agree- 
able meditation. 


208  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"There  is  no  moon  to-night,"  I  said,  "but,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  phosphorus  brightens  things 
up  a  bit." 

He  looked  at  me  derisively.  "  'Oh,  night!'  " 
he  quoted.  "  'Oh,  night,  which  ever  is  when  day 
is  not.'  " 

In  a  few  minutes  I  got  up  and  came  to  my  cabin. 
I  undressed  and  combed  out  my  hair,  carefully 
anointing  the  scalp.  I  was  about  to  bathe  my  eyes 
with  the  aid  of  an  eye-cup,  when  you  appeared 
before  me  in  the  form  of  a  djinn. 

"I  would  n't  do  that,"  you  said,  pointing  to  the 
cup;  "you  have  put  hair  tonic  in  there." 

"Have  I?"  I  replied  absently.  "Then  I  must 
have  put  boracic  acid  on  my  hair. ' ' 

"You  did  indeed,  but  it  won't  hurt  you.  You 
are  feeling  rather  confused  this  evening." 

"It  would  seem  so." 

"Things  are  not  going  to  suit  you,  perhaps!" 

"Perhaps  not." 

"Not  even  feeling  up  to  a  friendly  argument?" 

"No." 

' '  Then  you  must  be  ill. ' ' 

"Yes ;  I  was  thinking  that  perhaps  I  am  getting 
cholera  or  bubonic  plague  or  some  other  Oriental 
complaint. ' ' 

"I  don't  believe  it  's  as  bad  as  that.    I  think 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  209 

you  feel  ill  because  you  're  beginning  to  realize 
how  you  have  bungled  matters. ' ' 

"No  doubt." 

"You  're  thinking  of  how  you  have  let  slip  this 
brilliant  opportunity." 

"But  I  did  take  the  opportunity." 

"Not  the  one  I  mean." 

"Oh,"  said  I  vaguely. 

And,  as  I  sat  in  silence,  you  continued  to  smile 
at  me  in  the  most  curious  manner,  gradually 
fading  away,  all  but  the  smile,  like  the  Cheshire 
Cat  in  "Alice  in  Wonderland."  Finally  that 
vanished.  Then  I  turned  out  the  light  and 
turned  on  my  fan. 

As  soon  as  I  found  myself  in  the  dark,  I  wished 
for  you  to  come  back.  The  great  wicked  city  of 
Singapore  and  the  unknown  lady  with  incipient 
melancholia  haunted  me.  The  possibility  of  dis- 
aster was  very  close  just  then.  Did  you  ever  lie 
at  night  and  think,  "Well,  what  if,  after  all,  a 
man  were  lurking  under  the  bed  with  the  intention 
of  cutting  my  throat  ? ' ' 

You  have  ?    Then  you  know  how  I  felt. 

SINBAD. 


210  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

At  sea. 

— December,  19 — . 
Dear  Hinbad: 

Last  night  I  lay  sleepless  so  long  in  the  com- 
pany of  unpleasant  fancies  that  I  could  not  have 
determined  the  moment  when  they  merged  into 
tormented  dreams  of  gropings  and  wanderings 
down  endless  corridors  and  through  rooms  under- 
ground and  airless.  But  when  I  awoke  I  was  in 
a  sweat  of  exhaustion,  as  if  I  had  actually  labored 
all  night  to  find  a  way  back  to  the  air  and  light. 

When  I  sat  up  in  my  bunk  in  the  morning  sun- 
shine, a  wave  of  horrible  nausea  passed  over  me. 
I  managed  to  call  for  Miss  Hale-Hale,  but  it  was 
later  than  I  thought — she  was  already  at  break- 
fast. But  my  room-boy  heard  me.  He  pushed 
aside  the  curtain  and  inquired  casually,  " Ajer 
panas?"  I  nodded,  and  he  at  once  departed. 
When  he  returned  I  felt  better.  I  took  the  hot 
water,  bathed,  and  dressed.  But  when  I  was 
ready  to  go  to  breakfast,  the  unsteadiness  of  my 
legs  caused  me  some  mortification.  Besides,  I 
had  seen  myself  in  my  little  mirror,  and  the  sight 
had  not  pleased  me.  People  with  red  hair  like 
mine  can  not  afford  to  grow  too  pale. 

However,  I  went  with  some  misgiving.  But  oh, 
Hinbad,  that  breakfast !  I  have  told  you  of  them 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  211 

before,  and  you  know  how  fitted  they  are  for  an 
heroic  stomach,  how  ill  suited  to  a  squeamish  one. 
I  ate,  but — ugh !  I  can  not  write  about  it. 

How  I  had  the  temerity  afterward  to  go  up  on 
deck  in  search  of  my  friends  I  can  not  imagine. 
I  believe  I  had  a  desire  to  shake  off  the  fancies  of 
the  night  in  the  society  of  my  fellow  beings.  It 
was  hot.  The  heat-waves  quivered  up  from  the 
end  of  the  deck  and  there  was  a  smell  of  pitch 
everywhere.  A  milky  vapor  clouded  the  horizon. 

I  found  them  right  enough,  sitting  together, 
the  Explorer,  Miss  Hale-Hale,  and  the  Professor, 
who  was  reading  to  them  from  a  book — some- 
thing amusing,  for  he  shouted  with  laughter  as 
he  read.  At  the  sight  of  him  and  the  sound  of  his 
boisterous,  healthy  amusement,  I  felt  my  gorge 
rise.  It  suddenly  struck  me  that  I  hated  the  man, 
that  he  was  the  cause  of  all  my  misfortunes — all 
of  them  indiscriminately:  my  estrangement  with 
the  Explorer,  the  loss  of  -my  money,  and  even  the 
breakfast  I  had  just  eaten. 

I  sat  down  with  them  while  he  explained  what 
he  had  been  reading  and  then  went  on.  I  did  not 
hear  a  word.  Piece  by  piece,  his  machinations 
since  he  had  come  on  board  the  Suydam  paraded 
before  my  eyes,  as  grotesque,  as  fearful,  as  the 
dreams  I  had  so  recently  left.  How  odious  he 


212  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

was !  How  my  eyes  swam  and  glazed  even  in  the 
effort  of  looking  at  him!  I  became  aware  that 
some  one,  not  he,  asked  me  if  I  were  ill,  and  I 
replied  that  I  was  not.  The  sound  of  my  voice 
astonished  me.  It  seemed  hoarse  and  mde  and 
not  to  belong  to  me  at  all. 

The  desire  began  to  consume  me  to  interrupt 
the  Professor  and  tell  him  what  I  thought  of  him. 
So  many  pungent  words  came  to  me  to  say.  I  ran 
them  over  in  my  mind  till  they  revolved  dizzily 
before  me  like  a  wheel.  They  grew  intolerable. 
I  wanted  to  get  up  and  spring  at  him,  to  strike 
him! 

Suddenly  another  attack  of  nausea  passed  over 
me  like  a  wave.  I  managed  to  get  to  my  feet  and, 
by  concentrating  my  mind  upon  them,  walk  more 
or  less  evenly  down  the  deck  to  my  cabin. 

It  was  not  far.  At  the  door  I  ran  into  the 
young  Dutch  doctor  of  the  ship,  who  after  one 
look  at  me  followed  me  in.  I  fell  on  my  bunk 
speechless,  while  he  sat  on  the  edge  holding  my 
wrist  for  a  moment.  Then  he  asked  me  some 
questions.  I  replied,  and  began  to  tell  him  all 
about  the  dream  I  had  had. 

The  expression  of  his  face  was  so  sympathetic, 
so  intelligent,  that  I  hurried  on  to  tell  about  the 
Professor.  I  explained  that  I  hated  him  for 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  213 

sundry  and  good  reasons,  some  of  which  I  enum- 
erated, and  said  that  it  was  actually  my  disgust 
of  him  that  had  made  me  ill,  and  I  knew  this  for 
a  fact,  because  I  had  just  been  foolhardy  enough 
to  sit  down  by  him  for  a  moment  on  deck.  There- 
upon the  doctor  took  some  pills  from  his  pocket 
and  gave  them  to  me  with  a  glass  of  water.  I 
asked  him  anxiously  if  he  thought  I  was  pecul- 
iar. 

"Not  at  all,'*  he  replied,  ringing  for  my  boy, 
who  presently  returned  with  ice,  which  the  doctor 
wrapped  in  a  towel.  He  loosened  my  hair  and 
put  the  ice  on  my  head. 

"Because  I  am  not  really  peculiar/'  I  pro- 
tested. 

"Most  certainly  not,"  he  replied. 

He  put  a  small  piece  of  ice  in  my  mouth,  and  I 
thought  him  very  kind.  I  was  suddenly  moved  to 
great  confidence  in  him,  and  I  said  anxiously : 

"This  Professor — can't  something  be  done 
about  him?" 

"Perhaps  so;  I  will  see." 

"But,"  I  persisted,  "something  definite  must 
be  done.  Couldn't  you" — I  spoke  timidly,  for  I 
was  not  quite  sure  how  he  would  take  this — 
"could  n't  you  lock  him  up  till  I  get  off,  or  throw 
him  overboard  at  once,  or  something!" 


214  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"I  will  speak  to  the  Captain  about  it,"  he  re- 
plied gravely;  "you  need  not  worry. " 

I  felt  so  relieved  at  the  extreme  reasonableness 
of  his  point  of  view  that  I  turned  over  and  went 
into  a  heavy  sleep. 

Several  times  I  came  almost  to  the  surface  of 
consciousness,  enough  to  be  aware  of  Miss  Hale- 
Hale 's  face,  the  other  side  of  the  mist,  looking 
down  at  me  concernedly.  But  when  I  finally 
awoke  I  was  alone.  My  head  was  astonishingly 
clear,  and  I  perceived  at  once  two  fat  cockroaches 
scuttling  across  my  wash-stand.  I  thought  that  I 
would  get  up  and  dress  for  dinner,  but  at  once  I 
found  that  I  could  scarcely  move  my  arms  from 
ache  and  weariness.  I  sank  back  on  the  bunk 
with  a  feeling  of  despair,  when  the  curtain  waved 
and  the  young  Dutch  doctor  looked  in.  I 
instantly  remembered  the  ridiculous  confidences 
I  had  poured  into  his  ears  that  morning,  and 
blushed  hot  with  mortification. 

1  'Are  you  better?"  he  asked,  coming  in. 

He  felt  my  pulse,  looked  at  my  tongue,  and  took 
my  temperature.  He  asked  me  a  few  questions, 
and  finally  I  said  to  him  with  some  difficulty : 

"I  am  ashamed  of  what  I  said  to  you  this  morn- 
ing. I  did  not  mean  it,  of  course. ' ' 

"I  had  forgotten  it,"  he  replied. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  215 

When  he  turned  to  go,  he  came  back  to  the  edge 
of  my  bunk  and  looked  down  at  me  kindly. 

"Are  you  to  get  off  at  Singapore  to-morrow!" 
he  asked. 

"Oh,  is  it  to-morrow!"  I  cried.  Stupidly 
enough,  I  had  mistaken  the  number  of  days  be- 
tween ports.  I  thought  it  the  next  day,  and  the 
snatching  from  me  of  this  day  of  grace  made  my 
heart  sink  sickeningly. 

"To-morrow,  yes,"  he  replied.  "But  have 
you  friends  there  who  will  meet  you?" 

"Some  one  will  meet  me,"  I  replied  quaver- 
ingly. 

For  a  moment  the  kindness  of  his  eyes  tempted 
me  to  tell  him  everything,  but  the  memory  of  my 
ridiculous  confidences  of  the  morning  returned  to 
me,  and  I  could  not  speak.  He  patted  my  hand 
reassuringly. 

"You  will  be  better  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
' '  And  now  I  will  send  you  a  suitable  supper. ' '  He 
went  out. 

Shortly  after,  the  suitable  supper  appeared. 
It  was  tea  and  toast  and  rice  with  a  cold  grape- 
fruit. I  ate  it  and  lay  back  on  my  bunk.  Out- 
side the  sun  was  setting,  and  people  left  the 
decks  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Then  Miss  Hale-Hale  appeared  in  my  doorway, 


216  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

dressed  in  her  one  familiar  evening  frock  of 
faded  satin.  It  had  the  look  of  being  made  over, 
perhaps  more  than  once,  from  some  late- Victorian 
ball-gown,  and  a  little  of  the  stiffness  of  that  per- 
iod showed  in  its  folds,  but  it  had  been  a  fine  piece 
of  satin  in  its  day,  and  now,  as  she  seated  herself, 
quite  careless  of  it,  on  the  high  sill  of  my  door- 
way, it  spread  about  her  in  the  sunset,  faintly 
iridescent  like  old  glass. 

"Are  you  better ?"  she  asked. 

"I  guess  so,"  I  replied  wearily. 

"I  know  this  fever  myself/'  she  said.  "It  is 
a  bad  business. ' ' 

"Oh,  yes."  I  was  too  listless  to  talk,  and  she 
sat  still  some  time,  looking  at  me. 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you,"  she  said  presently,  "how 
I  came  to  get  fever?" 

"No,"  I  said. 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  how  she  came  to  get 
fever  could  possibly  make  an  interesting  tale  to 
me  just  then.  But  there  was  a  peculiar,  unwonted 
animation  in  her  voice.  It  was  apparent  she  was 
going  to  tell  me,  anyway. 

"I  had  four  brothers,"  she  began  rather  unex- 
pectedly, "and  three  sisters,  as  I  believe  I  told 
you  once,  didn't  I?  They  were  all  older  than  I, 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  217 

and  I  did  not  see  much  of  them.  We  lived  in  a 
vicarage  down  in  Sussex,  you  know,  a  jolly  sort  of 
place  with  an  old  Saxon  tower  to  the  church,  and 
big  oaks  all  around  the  house,  and  the  Arun  run- 
ning down  through  the  meadow.  One  by  one  my 
brothers  went  away,  the  army  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  my  sisters  never  married.  We  all 
lived  at  home  with  father  and  mother,  and  of 
course  we  were  not  rich  and  we  never  went  about 
much. 

''But  one  brother,  the  youngest,  I  was  really 
fond  of.  His  name  was  Clive,  and  he  was  only 
three  years  older  than  I,  so  we  saw  quite  a  bit 
of  each  other.  When  I  was  small,  he  used  to  let 
me  follow  him  around  the  golf  course  and  pick  up 
his  balls,  while  he  practised  strokes  by  himself. 
Later  he  taught  me  to  use  the  sticks.  I  always 
helped  him  out  in  his  studies,  for  he  was  rather 
a  duffer  at  them.  We  would  spend  afternoons 
on  the  Arun  while  he  punted  and  I  got  his  math 
for  him.  I  am  a  bit  of  a  duffer  myself,  you  know, 
but  I  always  managed  to  get  it  enough  to  teach 
him.  Yes,  I  was  extremely  fond  of  Clive." 

Miss  Hale-Hale  was  ordinarily  incapable  of  in- 
vesting her  voice  with  any  expressiveness,  but 
somehow,  as  she  told  me  about  Clive,  it  actually 


218  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

took  on  a  quality  of  tenderness.  My  eyes  must 
have  opened  wide  in  astonishment.  She  went 
on: 

"But  Clive  didn't  seem  to  have  any  real  apti- 
tude for  the  army  or  church  or  the  usual  things, 
so  finally  one  day,  quite  unexpectedly,  he  was  off 
to  the  colonies.  He  wandered  around  a  year  or 
so,  and  you  Ve  no  idea  how  miserable  I  was. 
You  see,  I  had  no  chum  at  all,  and  I  was  lonely, 
with  of  course  nothing  much  to  do.  It  was 
beastly.  But  after  a  bit  he  got  a  billet  on  a  tea 
plantation  in  Ceylon,  and  it  seems  they  gave  him 
a  bungalow.  That  meant  he  needed  a  house- 
keeper, and  he  actually  sent  back  home  for  me. 
You  have  no  idea  how  set  up  I  was  about  this. 
There  was  really  no  speaking  to  me.  For,  you 
see,  there  were  three  other  girls  all  older,  and 
he  could  have  sent  for  any  one  of  them.  But  it 
was  I  he  wanted.  So  I  went. " 

"Oh,  that  is  how  you  went  to  Ceylon,  is  it?" 
I  asked. 

I  really  love  to  be  told  stories,  Hinbad,  as  you 
know,  and  I  did  not  find  it,  after  all,  so  disagree- 
able to  lie  here  and  listen  to  Miss  Hale-Hale 's 
curiously  gentle  voice.  But  suddenly  her  voice 
took  an  unexpected  tone  of  harshness. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  219 

"Yes,  that  is  how  I  went.  But  when  I  got 
there — it  was  a  very  extraordinary  thing — he 
just  wasn't  there." 

" Was  n't  there!"  I  exclaimed.  "But,  Miss 
Hale-Hale,  what  had  happened  to  him?" 

"Well,  when  I  got  there,  of  course  I  found  the 
people  he  was  with  and  the  place  where  he  had 
been,  but  he  had  left  them — gone  on,  they  didn't 
seem  to  know  where,  and  he  had  left  no  word  for 
me.  That  was  curious.  They  could  tell  me 
scarcely  anything  about  him.  But  I  gathered 
from  the  way  they  spoke,  more  than  from  what 
they  said,  that  they  thought  there  had  been  some- 
thing the  matter  with  him — something  queer. 
For  a  time  they  kept  me  with  them;  they  were 
sorry  for  me,  I  suppose.  But  I  could  not  stay 
there,  because — well,  because  in  a  week  or  so 
I  had  no  money  left  at  all." 

"But  what  could  you  do?"  I  cried. 

"I  '11  tell  you,"  she  said.  "One  always  man- 
ages somehow,  and  I  got  a  billet  as  governess 
to  the  children  of  some  people  living  there  in  the 
Cinnamon  Gardens.  For  a  time  I  was  all  right, 
for  I  saved  a  little,  and  I  went  everywhere,  to 
meet  and  talk  to  any  one  I  could  find  who  had 
known  Clive.  There  aren't  so  many  people  out 


220  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

here,  you  know,  and  sooner  or  later  I  was  bound 
to  come  on  some  one  who  would  be  able  to  give 
me  an  idea  of  where  he  had  gone. 

"It  was  while  I  was  here  that  I  bought  those 
bangles  and  nose-rings  I  told  you  of.  That  was 
a  dreadful  thing  to  do,  as  I  told  you,  for  I  needed 
the  money  so  badly.  But  at  the  ball  where  I 
wore  them,  at  the  Galle  Face,  I  met  a  chap  just 
back  from  Singapore  who  told  me  he  had  seen 
Clive  a  year  before  in  Ceylon,  and  had  told  him 
if  he  was  dissatisfied  to  try  the  Straits  Settle- 
ments. He  told  me  another  man  he  knew  had 
recently  seen  Clive  somewhere  up  country  in  the 
Settlements,  and  that  he  was — well,  he  did  n  't 
say  just  what — but  he,  too,  intimated  that  there 
was  something  queer  about  him.  This  chap  told 
me  I  had  better  go  home,  but  I  said  I  must  find 
Clive,  so  he  gave  me  the  name  of  some  people 
to  go  to  in  Singapore. 

"Well,  just  then  the  family  I  was  with  decided 
to  move  down  to  their  plantation  in  the  rubber 
country,  and  I  had  to  go  with  them,  for  I  did  n 't 
have  enough  money  yet  for  the  trip  to  Singa- 
pore. But  it  is  beastly  in  the  coast  country — 
hot,  lots  hotter  than  this,  and  very  unhealthy. 
It  was  there  I  got  fever,  and  I  got  it  badly  too, 
I  can  tell  you — ague,  nausea,  all  of  it.  For  a 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  221 

time  I  had  a  spell  of  black-water  fever,  which  was 
very  dreadful." 

"Poor  girl!"  I  exclaimed;  but  Miss  Hale- 
Hale 's  stiffly  erect  figure,  outlined  against  the 
last  sun-glow  from  my  doorway,  made  no  con- 
scious plea  for  sympathy.  "Tell  me  the  rest  of 
it,"  I  begged. 

"Well,  I  used  to  think  they  would  make  me 
give  up  the  billet.  But  I  could  not  do  that.  And 
then  I  used  to  think  I  would  die.  But  I  could  not 
do  that,  either.  So  somehow  I  hung  on." 

She  paused  and  cleared  her  throat  with  some 
effort. 

"Finally,"  she  said  without  apparent  emotion, 
"I  got  enough  money  and  went  on  to  Singapore." 

"But  your  brother?"  I  asked.  "Do  tell  me 
that  you  found  him!" 

"Not  at  once.  I  went  to  the  people  whose  ad- 
dress I  had  been  given — nice  people,  rather,  who 
have  since  died.  Anyway,  they  took  lots  of 
trouble  and  wrote  around  to  other  people  up 
country.  Finally  we  located  him." 

Her  voice  stopped  and  she  stared  ahead  of 
her  with  stony,  expressionless  eyes,  her  hands 
hanging  awkwardly  by  her  sides.  I  hesitated  to 
urge  her,  and  waited  till  she  should  of  her  own 
accord  go  on.  When  she  began  again,  her  voice 


222  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

was  noticeably  labored.  "So  I  went  to  a  place 
called  Ipoh,  and  there  I  took  ponies  and  a  man, 
and  went  on  for  several  days  till  I  came  to  him. 
It  was  a  beastly  place  where  he  was,  and  he  was 
ill  there — oh,  really  very  ill." 

Her  voice  broke  unexpectedly,  and  this  un- 
looked-for weakness  in  Miss  Hale-Hale  almost 
unnerved  me.  I  felt  tears  in  my  eyes,  and  half 
hoped  she  would  tell  me  no  more.  But  she 
spoke  again,  almost  inaudibly: 

"His  mind  was  affected,  you  see.  But  the  curi- 
ous thing  of  it  is,  he  knew  me  at  once.  Thought 
it  quite  simple  and  natural  that  I  should  be 
there  like  that.  I  talked  to  him  about  Sussex 
and  golf  and  the  summer  afternoons  on  the  Arun, 
all  we  used  to  talk  about,  and  he  told  me — well, 
he  told  me  all  sorts  of  the  strangest  things. 

"I  had  to  look  after  him,  cooking  and  that, 
you  know,  and  I  used  to  think  all  night  of  what 
I  would  do  when  my  money  gave  out.  But  before 
it  gave  out — he  died." 

I  was  glad  I  could  not  see  her  face  just  then. 
The  tropic  afterglow  had  faded  outside  my  cabin, 
and  it  was  almost  dark.  Yet,  in  her  still  dimly 
discernible  outlines  I  saw  for  the  first  time  some- 
thing that  startled  me,  something  that  was  splen- 
did and  almost  epic. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  223 

"Why,  Miss  Hale-Hale!"  I  murmured,  as  if 
I  were  addressing  some  one  seen  for  the  first 
time.  After  a  few  minutes  my  curiosity  as  to  the 
epilogue  came  forward,  and  I  asked  her  what  she 
did  then. 

"I  had  no  money,"  she  said,  in  a  return  to 
her  normal  voice,  "but  the  people  I  knew  in  Sing- 
apore got  me  a  billet  as  governess  in  Australia. 
They  lent  me  -the  money  to  get  there,  and  I  had 
been  there  three  years  when  I  left.  Now  I  am 
going  home." 

I  lay  back  on  my  bunk,  and  the  dreadful  reali- 
zation of  Singapore,  which  lurked  always  just 
outside  my  consciousness  to  stalk  in  when  I  left 
the  door  ajar,  returned  to  me. 

"Are  the  people  you  know  in  Singapore  still 
there?"  I  asked. 

"They  are  dead,"  she  said.  "And  by  the  way, 
I  really  came  here  to  ask  you  something.  These 
people  you  are  going  to,  are  you  sure  they  are 
all  right?" 

"I  am  as  sure  as  one  can  be." 

"What  is  your  address  there?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  no  use  giving  it,"  I  said;  "I  shall  be 
there  only  a  few  days.  I  go  back  to  Australia 
on  the  next  boat."  I  gave  her  the  Darwins'  ad- 
dress in  Australia,  and  yours  in  America,  Hinbad. 


224  LETTEES  TO  A  DJINN 

1 '  Write  me  in  care  of  either  of  these, ' '  I  told  her. 

She  got  up  to  go,  and  said  she  would  look  in 
on  me  in  the  night.  "Try  to  sleep,"  she  said. 

In  the  doorway  she  hesitated,  and  then,  after 
an  awkward  movement  to  step  over  the  sill, 
turned  again  toward  me. 

"I  say,"  she  said  hastily,  "you  mentioned  once 
that  you  were  a  bit  short  of  cash.  I  thought,  of 
course,  it  was — well,  an  excuse.  But,  in  case  you 
meant  it,  I  should  like  awfully  to  help  you  out, 
if  I  may." 

I  felt  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  to  my  eyes.  She 
was  actually  offering  me  what  she  had  labored 
for  so  painfully  and  so  long.  I  could  scarcely 
stutter  out  my  reply:  "No,  I  don't  need  it;  but 
thank  you — thank  you  very  much!" 

She  turned  again  to  go. 

"Miss  Hale-Hale,"  I  cried,  "before  you  go  I 
want  to  tell  you  something.  I  shall  be  sorry  to 
see  the  last  of  you  to-morrow,  because  I  like  you — 
I  like  you  through  and  through ! ' ' 

She  hesitated  on  the  sill,  and  for  a  moment  I 
thought  she  would  go  without  a  word.  Then 
she  blurted  out  suddenly:  "And  I  like  you!" 

Then  she  went  quickly  off. 

I  lay  there  in  the  dark,  thinking  over  what  she 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  225 

had  said,  wondering  at  her,  and,  now  that  she  was 
gone,  somewhat  troubled  because  I  had  refused 
her  gallant  offer  when  I  had  but  one  sovereign  and 
ten  shillings  left  in  my  purse. 

After  the  dinner-hour  people  returned  to  the 
decks,  and  my  doctor  came  in  again  to  look  me 
over  for  the  night.  He  left,  and  I  lay  there  in 
the  dark,  listening  to  footsteps  outside  my  cabin, 
to  the  paddle-paddle  of  bare  feet,  the  heavy  tread- 
ing of  the  Dutch,  and  one  step,  which  passed  back 
and  forth  at  intervals,  in  which  I  thought  I  de- 
tected the  irregularity  of  a  slight  limp. 

As  the  night  wore  slowly  on,  the  air  grew  hot- 
ter and  more  breathless.  For  the  first  time,  my 
electric  fan  seemed  to  afford  no  relief  at  all.  I 
passed  into  a  series  of  dozes  from  which  I  awak- 
ened suddenly,  uncertain  of  the  hour,  frightened 
of  the  dark  and  bathed  in  sweat.  Finally  I 
switched  on  my  light  and  sat  up  to  look  at  my 
traveling  clock.  It  was  twenty  minutes  to  two. 
It  was  morning  now;  the  next  day.  It  was  the 
day  I  was  to  arrive  in  Singapore! 

I  got  out  of  my  bunk  and  wrapped  around  me 
the  sarong  the  Secretary  had  given  me  on  leav- 
ing Java.  I  put  on  the  kabaja,  but  left  my  feet 
bare,  that  they  might  taste  the  coolness  of  the 
bare  wood,  and  stepped  out  on  the  deck.  In  the 


226  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

dim  night  lights  I  saw  several  Dutch  passengers 
lying  in  their  chairs.  They  were  unlaced  and 
fat,  perspiration  shone  on  their  faces,  and  some 
of  them  snored.  But  some  were  awake  and 
looked  listlessly  at  me  as  I  passed.  Several  boys 
lay  flat  on  the  decks  asleep,  and  a  few  Dutchmen 
in  pajamas  strolled  aimlessly  up  and  down,  smok- 
ing cigarettes. 

When  I  had  almost  completed  the  circuit  back 
to  my  cabin,  I  came  on  the  Explorer  standing  by 
the  rail,  looking  out  into  the  blackness  of  the 
cloudy  night.  In  the  midst  of  the  heat  and 
squalor,  he  stood  clean,  erect,  aloof,  a  sure  refuge 
against  all  the  terrors  I  feared,  and,  more  than 
that,  Hinbad,  dearer  to  me  than  anything  else 
in  the  whole  world ! 

I  stood  still,  afraid  while  I  yet  longed  to  speak 
to  him.  I  stretched  my  hand  toward  him  and  let 
it  drop  again  by  my  side.  Just  then  he  turned 
and  looked  at  me  with  the  curious  expression  of 
a  somnambulist  in  his  eyes.  I  walked  up  to 
him  soundlessly  on  my  bare  feet  while  he  con- 
tinued to  look  at  me. 

"This  is  real,"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

I  did  not  realize  what  he  meant,  and  stood  be- 
side him  in  silence.  A  thousand  imaginings 
passed  across  my  brain,  from  which  I  tried  to 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  227 

snatch  one  word ;  for  I  knew  there  was  one  word 
that  could,  even  at  this  last  hour,  make  every- 
thing clear  between  us. 

1  'Do  you  know  what  I  was  thinking  of  as  you 
came?"  he  said  in  his  low  voice.  "I  was  think- 
ing of  this  ship  moving  through  blackness,  ap- 
parently without  purpose,  from  nowhere  to  no- 
where, and  I  said  to  myself,  'After  all,  up  on  the 
bridge  there  is  a  man  who  knows  what  it  is  all 
about.  He  knows  the  hidden  port  we  are  making 
for,  and  he  will  get  us  there  in  the  end.*  " 

I  scarcely  heard  his  words,  but  nodded,  and 
he  continued:  "This  was  reasonable  enough 
allegory,  wasn't  it?  It  was  not  light-headed 
surely;  but  just  now  I  turn  around  and  see  you 
here,  or  think  I  see  you  here." 

"Of  course  it  is  I." 

"Yes,  but  remember,  I  Ve  seen  you  before  like 
this — never  so  real,  it  is  true,  but  still  real  enough, 
and  I  have  spoken  to  you  gently  in  the  sort 
of  voice  that  ought  not  to  frighten  a  spirit;  but 
sooner  or  later  you  have  always  vanished  away. ' ' 

"How  strange  of  you!"  I  said  wonderingly. 
"Is  it  mere  fancifulness,  or  can  you  really  not 
recognize  a  reality?" 

"And  you,"  he  cried,  "are  you  always  so  acute 
to  recognize  a  reality?  Can  you  see  the  shore- 


228  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

line  of  Malacca  tq  the  north  there  in  the  dark? 
Just  the  same,  it  is  surely  there.  Or  can  you," 
he  cried  suddenly,  almost  angrily,  "can  you  hear 
under  this  chatter  of  my  lips  the  reality  that  my 
heart  is  just  now  saying  to  you?" 

I  closed  my  eyes  for  a  moment  and  groped  fu- 
tilely  for  the  word  I  wanted.  "Let  me  find  it 
now, ' '  I  cried  to  myself.  "I  must  find  it ! " 

I  heard  then — how  can  I  tell  you,  Hinbad !  like 
a  derisive  echo  to  my  desire — the  deep  rumble  of 
the  Professor's  voice. 

"Is  no  one  in  bed  to-night?"  he  was  saying. 
"They  really  ought  to  provide  entertainment  for 
us  on  these  hot  nights." 

I  opened  my  eyes  and  tried  to  speak,  but  at  the 
sight  of  him  I  could  not.  What  I  had  said  to  the 
Dutch  doctor  flashed  vividly  before  me,  and,  to 
escape  the  wave  of  disgust  and  fear  that  his 
presence  brought,  I  half  ran  from  them  down  the 
deck,  leaving  the  Explorer  still  staring  at  me 
with  somnambulist  eyes. 

In  my  cabin  I  felt  my  fever  mounting  rapidly 
and  pulsing  in  my  temples  and  throat.  I  remem- 
ber that  I  threw  off  my  sarong  and  kabaja,  and 
dashed  cold  water  on  my  face.  I  have  an  indis- 
tinct idea  that  I  turned  on  the  light,  and  with  a 
pencil  covered  sheets  of  paper  with  writing  and 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  229 

tore  it  up.  "J.  Francis  Shepley,  18  Palembang 
Road,  18  Palembang  Road."  Then,  "Consul  of 
the  United  States  of  North  America,  21  Espla- 
nade, 21  Esplanade,  21  Esplanade."  Finally  I 
fell  over  on  the  bed  and  entirely  lost  conscious- 
ness. 

When  I  awoke  I  made  several  efforts  before  I 
could  move,  but,  whether  it  was  the  ache  of  my 
limbs  or  a  sinking  heart,  I  can  not  tell.  I  looked 
from  my  window  and  saw  we  were  sailing  a  milky 
sea  among  dim  green  islands.  The  sun,  hidden 
by  heat  hazes,  cast  a  curious,  opaline  shine  upon 
the  smooth  water,  where,  almost  near  enough  to 
reach  out  and  touch,  floated  a  phantasmal  junk 
with  high  poop  and  ribbed  sails. 

It  took  me  the  longest  time  to  dress,  and  I  kept 
saying  to  myself  that  I  was  still  ill — perhaps 
very  ill  indeed;  that  this  was  Singapore;  that  I 
had  in  my  possession  one  pound  and  ten  shil- 
lings ;  that  I  would  never  see  the  Explorer  again 
as  long  as  I  lived 

Miss  Hale-Hale  came  in  with  my  breakfast. 
She  urged  me  to  eat,  though  each  mouthful  was 
disgusting  to  me,  and  at  each  one  I  protested  I 
could  never  swallow  another.  As  I  ate  I  saw 
hilly  shores  passing  my  window,  and  there  were 


230  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

occasional  houses  on  them.  The  motion  of  the 
ship  grew  less.  Finally  the  engines  stopped. 

"Come  up  on  deck  and  see,"  said  Miss  Hale- 
Hale.  "I  '11  pick  up  your  remaining  things  when 
we  get  back. ' ' 

I  followed  her  with  weighted  feet  and  a  light 
head.  I  remember  that  my  heart  gave  a  wild 
leap  at  the  possible  prospect  of  seeing  the  Ex- 
plorer just  once  more.  But  we  did  not  see  him. 
What  we  saw  was  a  great  dock  blazing  in  the 
sun,  a  few  men  in  white  standing  in  the  shade 
of  buildings,  a  swarm  of  coolies  unloading. 

Just  below  us  a  boy  with  a  red  cloth-of-gold 
cap  on  his  head  stood  looking  up.  At  the  sight 
of  me  he  began  to  smile  and  nod  intelligently. 

"Come  up,"  Miss  Hale-Hale  called  to  him. 

"You  think  he  is  for  me?"  I  asked  stupidly. 

"He  is  a  servant  and  he  is  looking  for  some 
one.  He  may  have  a  chit  for  you,"  she  said. 

Presently  he  came  running  lightly  along  the 
deck.  Miss  Hale-Hale  stepped  aside  in  order 
not  to  appear  to  intrude,  while  he,  bowing  deeply, 
held  out  to  me  a  dirty  crumpled  paper.  I  took 
it,  and  saw  that  it  was  the  lengthy  cable  sent  a 
month  ago  by  the  Darwins  to  announce  and  ex- 
plain my  coming. 

"Who  are  you?"  I  asked  him. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  231 

"Selim  my  name,  Memsaliib.  I  Mr.  Shepley's 
boy.  He  can  no  come,  he  sending  me. "  He  bowed 
again  and  smiled  agreeably.  Then,  as  I  looked 
at  him  doubtfully,  he  hunted  among  his  dra- 
peries and  produced  a  fairly  clean  visiting-card: 
"J.  Francis  Shepley,  Mining  Engineer." 

I  looked  at  these  two  exhibits  and  tried  to  col- 
lect my  thoughts. 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  said  finally  to  myself,  "Mrs.  Shep- 
ley is  sick.  No  doubt  he  tan  not  leave  her. ' ' 

I  looked  at  Selim,  as  he  called  himself,  with  a 
gaze  in  which  there  was  so  much  effort  at  con- 
centration that  he  began  to  shift  unhappily  from 
foot  to  foot. 

"All  right,"  I  said  finally.  "You  wait  here. 
I  '11  be  up." 

He  smiled,  reassured  once  more,  and  bowed 
deeply.  I  walked  over  to  Miss  Hale-Hale. 

"They  Ve  sent  for  me,"  I  said,  "but  if  it 
does  not  seem  all  right  I  '11  go  to  the  American 
consul;  I  've  got  his  address." 

She  followed  me  to  my  cabin  without  comment. 

There,  suddenly  and  without  warning,  I  began 
to  cry.  Miss  Hale-Hale,  who  was  putting  my 
tooth-brush  and  soap-box  away,  looked  up  aghast. 
She  ran  to  the  basin  and  filled  it  with  water. 

"Don't  do  that,"  she  adjured  me.    "Try  cold 


232  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

water/'  But,  as  I  continued  to  cry  despite  her 
ministrations,  she  went  on  ejaculating:  ''Makes 
you  look  all  beastly!  Take  a  deep  breath." 

I  did  try  to  stop,  but  it  went  on  irresistibly,  like 
something  outside  of  myself  sweeping  me  along. 
I  began  to  get  hiccoughs  from  sobbing.  Miss 
Hale-Hale  forcibly  poured  water  down  my  throat, 
still  saying,  "Oh,  don't  do  that!  Try  to  stop." 

Suddenly  she  annoyed  me.  I  shook  her  off 
and,  putting  my  arms  on  the  wash-basin,  leaned 
my  head  against  them  and  went  on  crying. 

"I  '11  call  the  doctor,"  I  heard  her  exclaim  de- 
spairingly. 

But  just  then  he  stood  in  the  doorway  and 
stepped  quickly  in.  He  began  to  question  her, 
but  I  paid  no  attention  to  either  of  them,  till  he 
gently  took  my  arm  from  under  me  and  made  me 
sit  up.  He  rolled  up  the  sleeve  and  dabbed  the 
forearm  with  a  piece  of  wet  cotton.  Quite  unex- 
pectedly he  punctured  it  with  a  small  needle  that 
he  held  in  his  other  hand. 

I  was  startled,  and  for  the  moment  furious  with 
both  of  them;  but,  as  he  wiped  it  again  with  his 
cool  cotton,  I  sat  still  and  closed  my  eyes.  I 
said  nothing,  but  suddenly  I  began  to  feel  better. 
I  felt  better  in  long,  delicious  starts  and  waves. 
The  headache  and  the  nausea  passed,  my  blood 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  233 

seemed  to  run  normally,  and,  what  was  better, 
courage  returned  to  me.  Oh,  I  was  thankful 
for  that!  A  stormy  kind  of  courage  it  seemed, 
turbulent  and  confident.  I  was  no  longer  afraid 
of  Singapore,  of  the  fever,  of  the  Shepleys.  What 
is  more,  I  longed  to  be  off  at  once,  to  launch  the 
attack.  I  sprang  up  and  rearranged  my  hair, 
while  Miss  Hale-Hale  watched  me,  apparently  as 
much  disturbed  by  my  uncanny  recovery  as  by  my 
former  weakness.  The  doctor  closed  his  case. 

Just  then  a  shadow  filled  the  doorway,  and  the 
Professor  rapped  on  the  lintel  to  attract  atten- 
tion. 

"Thought  maybe  I  could  help  you  get  off,"  he 
explained;  "your  baggage  or  something  or 
other." 

"No,"  I  said  shortly,  "you  can  not." 

"Endicott  told  me  to  wish  you  bon  voyage  for 
him,"  he  continued,  only  a  trifle  ruffled  by  my 
reception.  "His  leg  bothers  -him  again  in  this 
heat." 

"Why  didn't  he  come  himself?"  I  demanded. 

"Well,  his  leg  bothers  him,  and  I  said  I  would 
do  all  that  was  necessary  to  help  you." 

He  stepped  inside  and  began  to  rearrange  the 
strap  of  my  trunk. 

"Go  away,"  I  said  to  him  harshly;  "I  don't 


234  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

want  you  here.  Go  away;  I  don't  want  to  look  at 
you!" 

He  stared  up  at  me  in  sudden  anger  and  be- 
wilderment, but  the  doctor  made  a  warning  ges- 
ture to  him,  and  taking  his  arm  led  him  out  and 
away. 

Coolies  came  in  for  my  trunk  and  bags  and 
my  rug  rolls;  and  so  it  was  that,  with  a  burst 
of  rage  at  the  Professor,  no  word  at  all  with  the 
Explorer,  and  followed  only  by  the  faithful  and 
distressed  Miss  Hale-Hale,  I  went  up  to  find  my 
Arab  escort  and  set  foot  on  Singapore. 

I  got  into  a  rickshaw,  and  Selim  put  my 
things  on  another,  climbing  in  somehow  atop  of 
them  himself.  We  were  off.  For  a  moment  the 
extraordinarily  developed  legs  of  my  coolie  fas- 
cinated me  as  they  padded  forward  in  the  dust, 
but  I  believe  I  did  not  look  with  much  interest  at 
anything  else.  It  was  so  hot  that  I  drew  far 
back  under  the  hood.  I  have  a  blurred  vision  of 
passing  many  tall  houses,  bright  blue  in  color, 
and  of  a  great  deal  of  clamor  and  movement. 
Once  Selim  called  to  me: 

"See,  Memsahib,  Raffles  Hotel." 

We  were  crossing  a  green  esplanade  near  the 
water,  and  a  hideous  hotel  rose  at  the  other 
end.  Later  I  saw  a  great  huddle  of  thatchsd-over 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  235 

boats  stretching  like  a  snake  between  houses.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  the  river  must  be  beneath 
them,  though  I  could  not  see  any  water  because  of 
their  denseness. 

Then  we  came  to  houses,  houses  where  people 
lived,  set  back  among  gardens,  but  they  were 
not  the  houses  or  the  gardens  of  the  Dutch  co- 
lonials. These  looked  dingy,  the  paint  peeling 
from  some  of  them,  their  gardens  slovenly  and 
unkempt.  I  did  not  think  this  could  possibly  be 
the  right  quarter,  or  else  that  we  were  merely 
passing  through,  but  Selim  suddenly  shouted  to 
his  coolie,  and,  with  a  bright  smile  to  me,  jumped 
out  before  a  low  one-story  house  set  in  a  grass- 
less  garden  overrun  with  castor  bushes. 

"Here,  Memsahib,"  he  exclaimed  cheerfully; 
"we  living  here." 

I  got  out,  though  still  incredulous,  ready  to 
withdraw  momentarily.  Selim  wrangled  for  some 
time  with  the  coolies,  while  I  went  up  to  the 
veranda  to  be  out  of  the  sun.  No  sounds  came 
from  inside,  but  a  scorpion  scuttled  across  the 
wall,  and  I  almost  put  my  foot  through  a  loose 
plank  in  the  floor.  Presently  Selim  finished  his 
negotiations.  Apparently  he  had  been  persuad- 
ing them  to  carry  my  things  as  far  as  the  veranda, 
which  they  finally  consented  to  do.  He  was  a 


236  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

negligible  creature  himself,  something  like  a  large 
delicate  insect,  and  I  could  well  see  that  he  was 
unequal  even  to  my  small  belongings.  The  cool- 
ies departed,  and  he  turned  to  me  with  one  of  his 
bright,  triumphant  smiles,  flinging  open  the  door. 

"Go  in,  Memsahib,"  he  cried. 

I  went  in.  It  was  rather  dark  and  there  was 
a  very  curious  smell.  Selim  pushed  aside  a  cur- 
tain and  ushered  me  into  a  room.  He  skipped 
past  me  and  raised  a  blind,  letting  in  a  great 
square  of  light.  Then  he  bowed  to  me  and  went 
suddenly  out  through  a  door. 

I  stood  there  a  full  moment,  poised  on  the  balls 
of  my  feet,  ready  for  instant  flight.  This  place, 
and  particularly  its  odor,  roused  a  whole  host  of 
suspicions. 

Suddenly  my  eye  fell  on  a  photograph  in  a 
silver  frame.  It  was  a  photograph  of  Mrs.  Dar- 
win. It  was  younger  than  I  had  seen  her,  fuller, 
happier,  but  unmistakably  she.  On  the  table  next 
to  it — the  table  covered,  by  the  way,  with  a  fringed 
cloth — stood  a  Bible,  surely  a  reassuring  sight,  for 
it  was  a  well-thumbed  one  and  shabby.  I  turned 
the  leaves  idly  and  read  on  the  first  page,  "To 
my  dear  little  Lily  on  her  thirteenth  birthday." 
I  recognized  the  writing  as  the  same  I  had  re- 
ceived from  Mrs.  Darwin  in  a  note  sent  to  my 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  237 

hotel  one  day.    Some  of  the  passages  were  marked 
in  pencil,  and  my  eyes  fell  on  these : 

If  I  take  the  wings  of  the  morning, 

And  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea ; 

Even  there  shall  Thy  hand  lead  me, 

And  Thy  right  hand  shall  hold  me. 

Several  dates  were  scratched  in  pencil  beside 
these  lines,  and  I  fell  to  wondering  what  they 
must  have  meant  to  this  forlorn  wanderer,  surely 
more  lost  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea  than 
even  I  was.  I  was  strangely  touched,  and  I  was 
glad  I  had  come  to  take  her  home. 

I  looked  about  further  and  saw,  in  friendly 
proximity  to  the  Bible,  a  tray  of  burnt-out  yel- 
low cigarettes,  and  even  a  few  ashes  scattered 
over  it  and  the  table. 

From  the  next  room  I  heard  Selim's  voice,  low 
and  soothing,  answered  by  another,  a  harsher, 
European  voice,  in  short  phrases.  I  could  not 
distinguish  words,  and  presently  they  ceased  and 
I  heard  a  more  distant  sound  of  splashing  water. 
But  no  one  came  in,  and  I  sat  alone. 

My  mind  turned  dully  from  this  household  with 
its  complications  back  to  the  ship,  to  Miss  Hale- 
Hale 's  story,  and  the  Professor's  interferences, 
concentrating  at  last  upon  the  Explorer.  I  found 


238  LETTERS  TO  A  DJTNN 

myself  still  vainly  searching  for  the  word  that 
might  have  made  all  clear  between  him  and  me. 
But  now  I  would  never  find  it,  or,  if  I  did,  how 
useless!  It  was  too  late;  it  was  over  and  done 
with,  one  of  those  things  to  be  forgotten.  Yet, 
even  in  the  midst  of  my  pressing,  immediate  diffi- 
culties, the  realization  of  what  I  had  failed  in, 
and  the  impossibility  of  ever  forgetting,  brought 
me  the  sharpest  and  bitterest  pang  of  my  life. 

The  door  opened  and  a  man  emerged  from  the 
next  room.  It  was  difficult  to  see  at  first  because 
of  the  shaft  of  sunlight  that  beat  between  us,  but 
I  perceived  that  he  was  an  Englishman,  dressed 
in  white,  very  pale  and  very  ill-looking.  Selim, 
who  stood  just  behind,  gave  him  a  gentle  push 
forward  into  the  room  and  led  him  to  a  sagging 
rattan  arm-chair  by  the  table.  He  sank  into  it 
and  the  light  fell  strongly  on  him.  He  winced  as 
if  he  had  been  stabbed,  and  shouted  suddenly  to 
Selim,  who  hurriedly  let  down  the  blind,  so  that 
only  a  narrow  bar  of  light  blazed  across  the  floor. 
The  room  became  dim,  and  with  the  withdrawal 
of  light  the  closeness  and  curious  taint  of  the  air 
grew  more  apparent. 

Hypnotized  into  silence,  I  watched  the  man, 
while  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  yawned  several 
times,  and  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  239 

Still  without  speaking,  lie  reached  under  the  table 
and  brought  from  a  shelf  concealed  by  the  fringed 
cover  a  decanter  and  glass.  •>  Selim  hastened  to 
the  help  of  his  shaking  hands  and  poured  for 
him  some  greenish  fluid,  smelling  something  like 
licorice,  which  he  drank  neat  and  undefiled,  and 
sank  back  moistening  his  lips. 

After  another  second  or  two,  Selim  gently 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder  and  pointed  to  me. 
The  man  looked  at  me — for  the  first  time,  I  be- 
lieve. 

"Ah,  good  morning,"  he  said. 

"Good  morning,"  I  replied,  while  Selim,  sat- 
isfied that  the  explanations  had  begun,  went  and 
squatted  in  a  corner. 

"Aren't  you  Mr.  Shepley?"  I  asked. 

"I  am,"  he  replied. 

This  wa^the  answer  I  expected,  yet  it  puzzled 
me. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are?"  I  insisted. 

"Bather,"  he  replied.  "And  might  I,  with- 
out seeming  rude,  ask  who  you  are?"  He  yawned 
exaggeratedly.  "I  can't  seem  to  remember  your 
face." 

"You  've  never  seen  me  before.  I  am  the 
young  lady  sent  by  Mrs.  Darwin — by  the  Bar- 
wins  of  Broken  Hill." 


240  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Oh,  yes,  the  Darwins!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Fancy  that,  now."  They  seemed  to  mean  little 
to  him.  He  fidgeted  and  yawned,  and  then  asked 
perfunctorily :  ' '  And  how  are  they  ? ' ' 

"They  are  well,"  I  replied.  I  wondered  that 
my  mind  worked  sufficiently  to  reply  even  thus  er- 
roneously. "Quite  well." 

"That  's  nice,"  he  said.  "Awfully  jolly  lot, 
those  Darwins,  though  I  had  a  row  with  them 
once — I  Ve  forgotten  about  what." 

He  began  to  fumble  again  for  the  bottle  under 
the  table,  but  changed  his  mind  and  took  a  cigar- 
ette from  a  case  instead.  Selim  glided  up  and 
struck  a  match  for  him. 

"That  boy  is  a  jewel,"  Mr.  Shepley  said 
sharply,  turning  his  dull  eyes  on  me  with  a  glim- 
mer of  appreciation.  "I  could  not  get  along 
without  him.  He  has  followed  me  all  over  the 
East,  Malay  States,  China  coast,  Lord  knows 
where,  through  thick  and  thin,  and  chiefly  thin, 
eh,  Selim?" 

Selim  nodded,  smiled  agreeably,  and  returned 
to  his  corner. 

"I  suppose,  now,  Selim  brought  you  here  to- 
day." 

"Yes,  he  did." 

"Well,  I  told  you  he  is  a  jewel!"  he  exclaimed 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  241 

triumphantly.  "For  I  had  clean  forgotten.  I 
never  told  him  to  at  all.'* 

"See  here,  Mr.  Shepley,"  I  said  firmly.  "Let 
us  get  down  to  business  as  soon  as  possible.  I 
was  sent  up  here  by  the  Darwins,  as  you  know, 
to  arrange  with  you  about  your  wife." 

4 '  My  wife  ? "  he  echoed.  He  settled  back  in  his 
chair,  sinking  in  on  himself. 

"Yes.  I  was  sent  by  them  to  get  her,"  I  con- 
tinued, "to  bring  her  down  to  Sydney.  They 
cabled  you  all  this,  for  I  have  the  cable  right  here. 
Selim,  your  jewel,  brought  it  down  to  the  boat." 

"If  they  did,  I  don't  remember  it.  Selim  at- 
tends to  my  mail. ' ' 

He  made  an  effort  to  draw  himself  up  in  the 
chair  by  gripping  the  arms,  and  his  brows 
knitted  over  his  dull  eyes. 

"You  tell  me  the  Darwins  sent  you  up  here 
to  fetch  my  Lily?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  call  that  a  beastly  damned  imperti- 
nence." Quite  unexpectedly,  he  struck  the  arm 
of  his  chair  and  his  eyes  momentarily  blazed. 
"This  bounder  Darwin—"  he  began;  but  I  in- 
terrupted him: 

"You  asked  them  to." 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  full  half -moment. 


242  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Did  I?"  he  mumbled.  "Well,  I  'd  forgotten 
it."  He  began  to  yawn  again,  times  in  succes- 
sion, exaggeratedly,  grotesquely.  ' '  Anyway, ' '  he 
said  at  last,  "it  doesn't  matter  at  all.  She  's 
dead." 

I  rose  out  of  my  chair,  and  the  terror  that  had 
been  accumulating  these  last  few  days  suddenly 
laid  hands  on  me,  cold  and  gripping.  I  sank 
back  again.  From  the  other  side  of  blurred  dark- 
ness I  heard  him  repeat:  "She  's  dead — been 
dead  a  week. ' ' 

For  a  space  of  time  I  could  not  speak,  nor 
could  I  see  him  sitting  opposite  me.  I  don't  know 
what  he  did,  or  how  he  received  my  consternation, 
but  when  I  began  to  see  again  in  patches,  he  was 
sunk  in  his  chair,  smoking  his  cigarette  and  sti- 
fling nervous  yawns. 

"What  did  she  die  of?"  I  asked.  I  have  no 
idea  why  I  should  have  chosen  this  particular 
question. 

"I  can't  remember,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
contemplation  of  his  cigarette.  Then,  flicking  off 
the  ash  with  a  spasmodic  jerk  of  his  finger, 
"Something  fatal,  though." 

I  felt  suddenly  an  hysterical  desire  to  laugh.  I 
tried  to  control  it,  but  succeeded  only  in  giving 
a  sort  of  titter  that  was  a  half-sob.  Selim  dis- 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  243 

approved  of  this  and  looked  at  me  reproachfully, 
shaking  his  head. 

"She  was  nervous,"  Shepley  added  rather 
anxiously,  "and  it  may  even  be  that  I  made  her 
nervous. " 

I  was  sure  now  that  I  must  laugh  or  cry,  either 
one.  I  buried  my  face  in  my  handkerchief  for  a 
moment,  and  tried  again  to  control  myself.  The 
ghastly  absurdity  of  this  creature  removed  him 
from  all  human  consideration,  and  I  could  not 
be  sorry  for  him,  except  as  one  might  be  sorry 
for  an  idiot. 

Suddenly  a  vivid,  painful  picture  of  Mrs. 
Darwin,  as  I  first  saw  her  at  the  ball,  flashed  be- 
fore my  closed  eyes. 

"Have  you  sent  word  to  the  Darwins?"  I  de- 
manded sharply,  raising  my  head. 

"Can't  remember/'  he  said.  "I  meant  to,  you 
know.  But  Selim  attends  to  my  mail.  Selim  is  a 
jewel — eh,  Selim?  But  he  only  reads  mail  and 
looks  out  for  things  in  general.  I  doubt  very 
much  if  he  would  be  up  to  sending  a  cablegram. 
I  don't  believe  he  would  know  how  to  go  about  it 
at  all." 

The  picture  of  Mrs.  Darwin  was  so  keen  before 
my  eyes  that  it  hurt.  Suddenly  I  could  not 
tolerate  the  man. 


244  LETTERS  TO  A  BJINN 

"But  this  is  monstrous!"  I  cried.  "What  sort 
of  man  are  you,  to  let  your  wife  die  in  this  fashion, 
and  then  neglect  even  to  notify  her  nearest  rela- 
tive? I  myself  shall  notify  her  at  once." 

I  sprang  up  to  run  from  this  infected  spot,  re- 
lieved by  opportunity  for  open  action  of  any  sort, 
when  the  idea  that  I  had  scarcely  the  money  to 
spend  on  cablegrams  struck  my  feet  from  under 
me  once  more.  I  sat  down  with  the  idea  upper- 
most that  I  must  keep  entirely  cool  and  not  lose 
my  head.  My  own  part  of  the  situation  was  re- 
vealing itself  rapidly  to  me,  but  I  recoiled  before 
its  myriad  possibilities.  I  did  not  dare  pause 
long  enough  to  look  it  full  in  the  face,  for  fear 
that  panic  would  seize  me.  There  was  something 
reassuring  to  me  in  the  loud  sound  of  my  own 
voice,  so  I  began  at  once,  boldly  and  entirely  at 
random : 

"Listen  to  me!  You  are  responsible  for  my 
coming  here.  You  sent  for  me,  and  you  took  no 
steps  while  I  was  on  my  way  to  notify  me  of  the 
uselessness  of  my  errand.  You  are  therefore 
now  under  the  obligation  of  sending  me  back 
where  I  came  from." 

He  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  and  laughed  the 
most  feeble  and  tittering  of  laughs. 

"You  amuse  me,  really,"  he  cried.    "By  Jove, 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  245 

you  do!  Do  I  look  like  a  nabob  to  you!  Do  I 
live  like  one?"  He  turned  one  pocket  inside  out, 
and  a  little  pink  ticket  fluttered  to  the  floor. 
"The  Calcutta  Sweeps,"  he  murmured,  eying  it, 
—"all  I  've  got  on  earth." 

Selim  hastily  came  forward  and  restored  it  to 
him.  He  replaced  it  tenderly  in  his  pocket. 

"I  Ve  got  no  money,"  he  said  with  finality. 

"Then  you  must  raise  some  somehow,"  I  said; 
"you  owe  it  to  me." 

His  eyes  opened  at  me. 

' '  See  here,  young  lady.  The  Darwins  sent  you. 
You  're  none  of  my  affair.  If  they  were  so  bally 
anxious  to  get  you  here,  let  them  get  you  back." 
He  reached  under  the  table  for  his  green  decanter, 
and  suddenly  an  idea  struck  him.  "Oh,  good 
Lord!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  was  why  I  had  a 
row  with  them.  Tight-fists !  Darwin  's  a  tight- 
fist — a  regular  miser;  rents  his  evening  clothes 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  and  owns  a  million 
acres — one  sheep  to  an  acre,  or  so  he  says. 
Dirty  tight-fist,  Darwin  is.  I  'd  enjoy  seeing  you 
get  money  out  of  him — wouldn't  I,  though! 
By  Jove,  you  'd  be  the  first  to  do  it." 

He  sniveled  and  fairly  choked  over  this 
amusing  idea.  He  was  becoming  noticeably  more 
animated.  He  had  ceased  yawning,  and  jerks  and 


246  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

shivers  passed  through  his  body.  A  kind  of 
flicker  of  ghostly  hilarity  lighted  his  dull  eyes. 
Somehow,  he  frightened  me  more  like  this  than 
in  his  torpor.  I  wanted  to  run,  but — I  had  no 
place  to  run  to. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  I  cried. 

He  leaned  his  arms  on  his  chair  and  looked  at 
me. 

"Cable  some  one  else — friends,  relatives,  any 
one  you  know  with  money.  I  Ve  often  done  it." 

"I  have  n't  any  one."  I  did  not  feel  that  I  was 
answering  him  so  much  as  myself.  I  scarcely 
even  knew  whether  I  was  talking  aloud. 

"Of  course  you  haven't,"  he  replied;  "your 
sort  never  does. ' ' 

"My  sort"!  Did  you  ever  go  under  in  swim- 
ming, Hinbad,  even  momentarily?  Then  you 
know  the  feel  of  the  water  closing  over  your  head, 
the  weight  of  it  in  your  lungs,  the  darkness,  the 
irresistible  panic.  But  he  was  talking  on: 

"Then  go  to  the  consul,  I  suppose — 'distressed 
British  subject,'  and  all  that.  They  are  ac- 
customed to  your  sort." 

"You  are  sure  they  will  help  me?" 

"How  should  I  know?  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
there  are  more  resources  than  one  open  to  you. 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  247 

More  than  I  ever  had,  by  Jove,  in  somewhat 
similar  circumstances." 

" What,  for  instance?" 

' '"Well,"  he  said,  smiling  and  leaning  forward, 
his  face  unrecognizable  in  its  increasing  anima- 
tion. * '  Well,  in  the  first  place,  why  bother  at  all  ? 
"Why  leave  here?  You  could  keep  house  for  me, 
now  that  I  'm  all  alone.  I  need  some  one,  and 
the  truth  is," — his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper, — "the 
truth  is,  I  am  bored  to  death." 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  ran  to  the  door,  but 
he  caught  my  skirt  as  I  passed,  and  held  me  back. 
I  had  a  vague  impression  of  the  noise  of  a  gharry 
stopping  outside,  and  of  Selim  running  suddenly 
from  the  room. 

" Don't  go  yet,"  said  Shepley.  "Stay  and  talk 
it  over.  I  know  I  am  not  prepossessing,  but  you 
really  see  me  at  my  worst  in  the  mornings.  You 
really  should  not  have  come  in  the  morning  at  all. 
The  fact  is,  I  go  on  improving  steadily  through 
the  day." 

I  wrenched  myself  away,  tearing  my  skirt 
slightly,  and  reached  the  door.  It  opened  before 
me  as  by  magic,  and  there  stood  the  Professor. 
From  behind  his  arm  peered  the  pale,  frightened 
face  of  Selim.  This  was  too  much  for  me.  I 


248  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

dropped  into  a  chair  and  began  to  shake  violently 
all  over. 
" Hello,"  said  the  Professor  casually. 

*  *  Hello, ' '  I  stuttered.    I  could  not  utter  another 
word. 

The  Professor  looked  at  Shepley  and  Shepley 
looked  back  at  him,  but  neither  spoke.  Then  the 
Professor  began  to  walk  around,  inspecting  the 
room  as  if  he  were  the  returning  landlord.  He 
sniffed  the  air  disgustedly  and  pulled  up  the 
blind.  Shepley  winced. 

*  *  May  I  ask  who  you  are  ] "  he  muttered.    ' l  So 
many  unexpected  visitors — " 

"My  name  is  Necker,"  said  the  Professor, 
without  looking  at  him.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"So  this  is  the  place  where  you  expect  to 
stay!" 

"I  don't  want  to  stay,"  I  cried;  "I  was  going 
when  you  came." 

"Yes;  there  has  been  a  mistake,"  Shepley  ex- 
plained. 

The  Professor  turned  to  him  with  a  ferocious 
suddenness.  "Did  you  get  her  here  under  false 
pretenses?"  he  roared.  (How  well  I  knew  that 
roar!) 

"I  '11  tell  you,  Professor,"  I  said  with  diffi- 
culty. "This  man's  wife  was  sick,  and  he  wrote 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  249 

to  her  sister  to  send  some  one  to  get  her.  Her 
sister  sent  me,  but  when  I  got  here  she  was  dead. 
This  man  did  n't  let  me  know  till  I  got  here.  He 
hasn't  let  her  sister  know  yet.  There  is  some- 
thing the  matter  with  him ;  you  can  see  that.  He 
won 't  pay  me  the  money  to  go  home.  His  sister- 
in-law  sent  me  here,  but  I  doubt  very  much 
whether  she  could  raise  the  money  to  send  me 
back.  I  lost  my  own  money  on  the  trip  in 
Macassar,  you  remember;  that  's  why  I  couldn't 
go  to  the  volcano. "  I  began  to  cry.  I  could  not 
help  it.  "And  I  want  to  get  away  from  here!" 
I  said. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  Professor.  "Certainly. 
That  is  just  what  I  came  for." 

He  patted  my  head  awkwardly  for  a  moment, 
and  then  walked  across  the  room  and  back  again. 
He  picked  one  of  Shepley's  cigarettes  from  the 
table  and  smelled  it. 

"Of  course!"  he  roared.  "Of  course  I  So 
now  this  is  the  way  of  it  I  And  may  I  ask  you, 
sir,  if  you  did  not  take  the  pains  to  notify  this 
young  lady  of  the  uselessness  of  her  undertaking, 
if  you  were  unwilling  to  assume  your  rightful 
financial  responsibility  toward  her,  why  you  still 
sent  some  one  to  the  boat  to  bring  her  to  this 
den?" 


250  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"I  didn't,"  said  Shepley.  "I  forgot  all  about 
it." 

Selim  slid  forward  out  of  the  gloom  and  laid 
on  the  Professor's  hand  the  crumpled  month-old 
cablegram. 

"I  tending  his  mail,  sir;  I  remembering  the 
lady." 

The  Professor  looked  at  the  cablegram,  and  a 
spasm  of  disgust  contorted  his  face.  He  flung 
Shepley's  cigarette  to  the  floor  and  jerked  out 
his  watch. 

"We  're  just  in  time  to  get  on  board.  I  Ve  got 
a  gharry  outside,  and  the  sooner  we  leave  your 
languid  friend  the  better." 

He  went  to  the  window  and  shouted  to  his 
driver  to  take  my  luggage  from  the  veranda. 

"But,  Professor,"  I  protested,  wiping  my 
eyes  and  blowing  my  nose. 

"Nonsense!"  he  interrupted  gruffly.  "Come 
along. ' ' 

He  took  my  arm,  and  I  let  myself  be  led  toward 
the  door.  Shepley  followed  us  into  the  hall,  and 
Selim,  much  perturbed,  followed  him.  At  the 
front  door  Shepley  yawned  and  said  politely: 

"Can't  I  persuade  you  to  stay  to  tiffin?" 

"No,  damn  you,"  said  the  Professor,  and  we 
went  out. 


LETTEBS  TO  A  DJINN  251 

In  the  gharry  I  began  to  recover  my  composure 
somewhat.  "How  on  earth  did  you  know  where 
to  come?" 

"Endicott  sent  me." 

"Endicott?    But  how  did  he  know?" 

"Miss  Hale-Hale  told  him.  He  asked  her 
quite  shamelessly." 

"But  I  had  not  told  her!" 

"No;  but  it  seems  you  covered  slips  of  paper 
with  addresses,  possibly  in  a  fever,  and  left  them 
on  the  floor.  She  picked  them  up.  There  were 
several:  one  was  18  Palembang  Road,  the  other 
was  21  Esplanade.  We  did  not  know  which  was 
correct,  so  he  sent  me  here,  while  he  went  him- 
self like  a  whirlwind  to  the  consul's,  as  being  the 
more  likely.  He  will  probably  be  there  and  back 
by  now,  but  he  will  meet  us  at  the  ship  very 
likely." 

At  this  mention  I  began  to  straighten  my  hair 
somewhat,  and  the  Professor  watched  me  from 
the  tail  of  his  eye. 

"But,  Professor,"  I  said  suddenly,  "I  can  not 
return  to  the  ship.  I  have  no  money  to  go  on." 

"You  '11  get  your  money  later — what  these 
Australian  folks  owe  you.  We  '11  cable  them 
now,  and  they  can  cable  it  to  meet  you  at 
Colombo.  It  will  be  all  right.  In  the  meantime 


252  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

I  beg  of  you  to*  make  use  of  me  in  any  possible 
way." 

"Are  you  sure  they  will  send  it?" 

1  'Certainly  I  am.    I  '11  do  this  cabling." 

I  thought  this  over  as  we  drove  on. 

"You  are  very  good  to  me,  Professor,"  I  said 
hesitatingly.  "If  I  can  ever  do  anything  for 
you — " 

"You  can,"  he  said  abruptly  and  in  his  deepest 
tones. 

"But  what?" 

"Marry  Endicott,"  he  replied  somberly. 

"Oh,  Professor!" 

"Yes;  marry  Endicott."  He  stopped,  and 
stared  ahead  of  him  with  gloomy  resolve  in  his 
eyes. 

"But — but  why  do  you,  of  all  people,  ask  me  to 
do  this?" 

He  replied  with  his  usual  unfortunate  choice  of 
phrase:  "Why?  Because  I  want  to  see  him  put 
out  of  his  misery."  But  he  had  the  grace  to 
smile,  in  spite  of  himself,  as  he  said  it. 

A  gharry  rattled  toward  us,  and  the  Professor 
at  once  shouted  to  his  driver  to  stop. 

"Here  he  comes,"  he  said.  "Tell  him  it  's  all 
right  and  you  '11  marry  him  in  Colombo." 

He  was  for  getting  out  and  changing  gharries 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  253 

with  Endicott,  but  a  panic  seized  me  at  the  idea, 
and  I  clutched  his  arm  and  held  him  back.  The 
Explorer  sprang  out  and  came  up  to  us. 

"I  've  got  her,"  announced  the  Professor 
triumphantly. 

Endicott  took  hold  of  the  side  of  our  carriage 
and  looked  in  at  us.  As  he  stood  there  in  the  sun 
I  saw  a  wave  of  color  spread  over  his  face.  He 
seemed  breathless,  though  he  had  not  been  run- 
ning. 

"You  're  quite  all  right  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"Yes,  quite,  thank  you,"  I  replied. 

He  stood  there,  looking  up  at  me,  till  the  Pro- 
fessor said  jocosely:  "Well,  old  chap,  do  you 
intend  standing  out  there  in  the  sun  all  day!  I 
tell  you  she  's  quite  all  right,  but  I  don't  want  to 
take  you  back  in  a  dead  faint  if  I  can  help  it." 

Endicott  paid  his  driver  and  got  into  our 
carriage.  He  sat  opposite  us.  The  Professor 
went  on  talking  garrulously  as  we  drove  toward 
Raffles  to  send  the  cable,  but  neither  the  Explorer 
nor  I  could  speak. 

On  board  again,  I  found  Miss  Hale-Hale 
waiting  in  my  old  cabin.  She  was  ready  to  help 
me  unpack  my  things.  I  told  her  all  that  had 
happened  to  me. 


254  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

"Dirty  bounder!"  was  her  comment.  Then, 
with  the  air  of  one  clinching  for  good  and  all  a 
protracted  and  wearisome  argument :  * '  These  hot 
countries,  you  know.  I  told  you  just  what  they 
are.  Now  you  are  well  out  of  them,  and  we  can 
all  go  on  to  England  together.  It  will  be  most 
frightfully  jolly." 

That  night  on  deck,  Hinbad,  we  four  sat  to- 
gether while  the  liqueurs  and  coffee  were  served. 
After  a  while  the  moon  rose,  and  the  sky  became 
a  blue  of  seemingly  greater  profundity  than  by 
day,  and  full  of  a  less  palpable  but  more  appeal- 
ing brightness.  The  dark  ship  caught  all  kinds 
of  gleams  from  the  shining  water  around  us ;  the 
little  glass  of  menthe  that  the  Professor  held 
glowed  like  a  tiny  green  lamp;  Miss  Hale-Hale  ys 
satin  gown  reflected  light  almost  like  the  surface 
of  a  dimmed-over  mirror. 

"But  this  is  wonderful!"  the  Professor  ex- 
claimed, for  the  first  time  apparently  alive  to 
physical  beauty.  "It  is  not  night  at  all,  but  a 
sort  of  softer  day." 

He  beamed  on  the  company  like  a  benignant 
Jove  who  considers  himself  more  or  less  respon- 
sible for  all  the  good  things  in  this  world,  and  his 
beams  concentrated  confusingly  on  the  Explorer 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  255 

and  me.  It  was  clear  that  he  considered  himself 
to  be  our  good  genius. 

Suddenly  he  rose  and  caught  Miss  Hale-Hale 
by  the  arm,  dragging  her  very  impolitely  to  her 
feet.  "Let  us  go  to  the  upper  deck,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "and  see  if  we  can  see  Colombo  on  the 
horizon." 

"Rubbish!"  protested  Miss  Hale-Hale,  smiling 
nevertheless.  "You  know  it  is  a  whole  three 
days '  sail. ' ' 

"Ah,  who  knows?  On  a  night  like  this  one 
might  almost  perceive  what  is  three  days  ahead." 
And  he  led  her  off. 

I  watched  them  disappear  up  the  companion, 
but  the  Explorer  did  not  turn  his  head.  He 
looked  at  me  as  he  had  been  looking  all  evening. 

"In  three  days,"  he  murmured,  "in  three 
days  we  shall  be  in  Colombo." 

"And  what  shall  we  find,"  I  asked  him,  "in 
Colombo!" 

"Do  you  remember  my  speaking  once,"  he 
smiled  whimsically,  "of  the  supreme  advantages 
to  man  of  living  in  contact  with  man  in  towns 
and  cities?" 

"I  do,"  I  replied,  and  added  unguardedly:  "I 
remember  everything. ' '  Which  almost  ended  the 
discourse,  for  he  paused  so  long  to  let  this  de- 


256  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

licious  fact  sink  in  that  I  had  to  remind  him 
gently:  "Yon  spoke  of  very  many  advantages 
of  town  dwelling. ' ' 

''And  now,"  he  said,  "I  can  think  of  only  one." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Ministers,"  he  replied. 

"Oh!"  said  I,  and  there  was  another  pause. 
"Are  you  sure  you  want  to  see  a  minister?" 

"So  sure,"  he  laughed,  "that,  even  if  you  tell 
me  now  you  have  an  unconquerable  aversion  to 
them,  I  shall  still  be  moved  to  drag  you  there  pro- 
testing. ' ' 

"Would  you  do  that,  indeed?  That  would  be, 
to  say  the  least  of  it,  informal.  And  town 
dwellers,  whom  you  so  much  admire,  are  always 
formal,  aren't  they?" 

"Seldom.  It  is  not  so  necessary  for  them. 
That  is  another  of  their  advantages." 

A  sudden  silvery  flutter  of  flying-fish  agitated 
the  water  beneath  us. 

"But  I  wish,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone,  "that 
you  might  come  willingly." 

"It  is  hard  to  believe  you  could  wish  me  to. 
You  have  seen  me  under  difficult  circumstances, 
which  means  that  you  have  seen  me  just  as  I  am 
— selfish,  often  superficial,  coquettish,  surely  the 


LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN  257 

sort  of  person  who  would  be  no  help  to  you  in 
your  work,  perhaps  even  a  hindrance." 

(How  pleasant  it  is,  Hinbad,  to  delittle  one's 
self  when  one  is  sure  of  vehement  contradiction.) 

"I  could  no  more  work  without  you  now  than 
without  light,"  he  cried.  "I  could  no  more  live 
without  you  than  without  air!" 

I  don 't  remember  whether  I  answered  anything 
to  this,  but  he  continued:  "It  sounds  scarcely 
fair  to  lay  such  a  responsibility  at  your  feet,  but 
I  can't  help  whether  it  is  fair  or  not.  I  seem 
equally  capable  now  of  coercion,  threat,  or  en- 
treaty. You  see,  I  am  showing  myself  to  you 
abominably,  and  Jbesides  this  I  have  been  moody, 
rude,  unreasonable,  and  wildly  jealous.  I  often 
used  to  wonder  at  seeing  fellows  behave  so  badly 
in  the  grip  of  a  thing  so  glorious,  and  now  I 
wonder  at  myself  even  more  and  understand  even 
less.  But  it  is  because  I  am  tottering  on  the  edge 
of  horrible  uncertainty,  never  knowing  when  I 
am  going  to  fall  over  into  darkness. 

"I  tell  you,  just  now  I  am  a  man  whose  life 
hangs  by  a  thread.  If  you  will  say  the  merciful 
word  that  means  salvation  to  me,  you  will  see  how 
different  I  shall  become.  One  kind  look  from 
you  and  I  feel  strength  to  go  out  and  accomplish 


258  LETTERS  TO  A  DJINN 

anything  on  earth.  When  you  smile  at  me  as  you 
sometimes  do,  perhaps  almost  unconsciously,  I 
am  convinced  of  all  that  is  latently  fine  and 
worthy  in  me.  I  know  it  is  there,  and  that  there 
is  nothing  I  could  not  do  with  it  because  of  you 
and  for  you.  When  you  can  shed  so  much 
power  in  the  mere  moving  of  an  eyelash,  re- 
member and  consider  just  a  moment,  before  you 
say  that  slight  word  which  is  still  going  to  have 
weight  enough  to  make  or  break  my  life." 

A  kind  of  sudden  brightness  of  the  sea  and 
moon  seemed  to  concentrate  around  me,  and  I 
could  not  speak.  But  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him. 

And  just  then,  Hinbad,  had  you  appeared  be- 
fore me  in  the  form  of  a  djinn  you  would  have 
seen  and  heard  all  the  momentous  matter  that 
followed.  But  you  did  not,  my  dear  Hinbad,  so 
I  am  afraid  you  must  remain  forever  in 
ignorance.  SINBAD. 


A     000  040  543     1 


